


Lethe

by T Fowler (serafina20)



Series: Unbroken Path [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 42,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serafina20/pseuds/T%20Fowler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After going missing for two weeks, Rachel Adams Winchester wakes in a remote cabin with no memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lethe

She opened her eyes. The ceiling above was unfamiliar. Wood slats fitted together seamlessly, darkened by time. Cozy and beautiful, but she didn't recognize it.

She sat up. Her body ached, ever muscle. Her neck was stiff, so she rolled it from side to side. There was a cracking sound in her skull and some of the tension eased. The pain in her head lessened. She lifted her arms and stretched as she looked around.

A room. One bed. Carpet. A dresser and mirror. Nothing else. No pictures, no jewelry, no make-up, no wallet. The room was completely devoid of any kind of identification. There weren't even any clothes around.  
She slid off the bed. Her legs shook. A knifing pain went through her lower regions, and she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Deep breaths. Slow, even though panic was beginning to creep in on her. She didn't know where she was. She didn't know why she was hurt or how she'd gotten hurt. And she didn't...

From outside the bedroom came the sound of a door opening. Footsteps.

"Hello? Rachel? Honey, are you in here?"

Rachel. She knew that name.

She took another breath and started walking. Exited the bedroom and entered a short hall.

"I'll check back here, Mom. I... Rachel!"

A young blonde woman pulled her into a tight hug. "Oh, thank God you're here. We've been looking everywhere, afraid the troll got you. But we found it, and there was nothing and..."

Heart in her throat, she pushed the other girl away. Stumbled back, the wall stopping her flight. Her legs were shaking so hard, she was afraid they were going to give out. "Who..." Her voice rasped and throat hurt. She cleared it, coughed.  
Tried again. "Who are you?"

The girl blinked. Tucked hair behind her ear. "What? Rachel, it's me. It's Jo." She reached out again.

Rachel jerked back, heart pounding.

"What's wrong? What happened to you? Are you hurt?"

Another woman appeared behind Jo. She was older, with graying brown hair and time-worn skin. She put her hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezed. "Thank God, we found you." She frowned. "What's wrong? You okay, Rachel?"

She thought about it. Shook her head.

"Okay. You're safe now. What's wrong, honey?" The woman nudged Jo aside and took Rachel by the arm. "Come on, let's go sit down."

She resisted, but her racing heart slowed. The woman was less intense, less pushy than the girl. She felt safer. "Who are you?"

"You don't know who I am?"

"No. I don't. I don't know who I am or where I am." She blinked rapidly, tears in her eyes. "I can't... I can't remember anything. I don't know why I'm here. What's going on?"

"Okay, calm down. Just breathe." Ellen soothingly rubbed her arm. "Breathe, baby, okay?"

She took a shaky breath and nodded.

"Your name is Rachel Adams-Winchester. I'm a friend, Ellen Harvelle, and this is my daughter, Jo. You've been missing, Rachel, for almost two weeks."

"Missing? What... what happened?"

"Well, that's what we're trying to figure out. Come on, let's go sit. Jo? Go see if there's any glasses in the kitchen and get Rachel some water, okay?"

"Okay."

Ellen took Rachel's hand. "Come on, little girl. Let's go sit."

Rachel stiffened. "Don't call me that."

"I'm... I'm sorry." She hesitated, hand tightening in Rachel's hand.

She licked her lips. "I guess... I haven't had a problem with it before?"

"I've never called you that before. You just... that was definitely a reaction to something. I'm just not sure if you'd react like that before you disappeared or not."

"Oh." She bit her lip. Winced; that hurt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." Ellen began leading Rachel into the front room. After a few steps, she said, "You're limping. What hurts?"

"Everything." Rachel winced as she sat on the couch. The longer she was awake, the more she became aware of just how bad she felt. Her eyes were gritty and her mouth was stuffed with cotton. Her skin like it were covered in ash. There were patches on her arms, legs, and back that felt raw and burned. Every muscle clamored for her attention and her stomach ached.

She felt like death.

"Um." Rachel pushed her bangs from her forehead, arm aching from the movement. "Jo said something about a troll?"

"Right." Ellen nodded as she leaned closer to Rachel. Pulled her hair away from Rachel's neck. Touched it gently.  
Rachel pulled away.

Ellen nodded again. Held up her hands. "Okay. There have been reports of people, mostly kids, disappearing from a town about three hours away. Their bodies turned up in the woods, mangled. Eaten, just parts. The legs, stomachs, uh..."

"It's okay. I don't... I don't need to know the details."

"Sorry. Anyway. You went to investigate. Just investigate until Dean and Sam got back from their mission."

Again, that fission of recognition went through Rachel at those names. She knew them, she knew she knew them. She just didn't know why. "Dean and Sam?"

Ellen seemed to hesitate. Her eyes flicked down to Rachel's hands.

Rachel followed Ellen's gaze. Her hands were scratched and bruised. Her nails were bitten off or broken. There were burn marks on the backs of her hands, shiny and bright, like they'd been there awhile.

But even with the mess, she saw what Ellen was looking at. There was a tan line on the ring finger of her left hand.  
"I'm married."

"Uh... yes. Dean's your husband. Sam's his brother."

"Do you have my ring?"

"You never take that thing off."

For some reason, this was even more upsetting than waking up not knowing who she was or how she got here. Not knowing her own husband. And losing a ring that was so important to her, that was... that was devastating.

Tears flooded her eyes. Her breath came in tiny gasps. "Do you think... do you think it's in the bedroom? I woke up there."

"What's wrong?" Jo pushed a glass of water into Rachel's hand and dropped on the sofa next to her.

"She's just been through a traumatic experience, Jo. Why don't you go check the bedroom for clues? See if her wedding ring is there."

"I want to stay with Rachel."

"You're always saying that you want to go out into the field. This is the field. Go investigate."

"This is so stupid." But Jo got up and went to the back room.

Ellen smiled indulgently. "She's crazy about you. The world we live in doesn't have many women. You're one of the few and the only one near her age. She's been so scared. We all have been."

"Because you thought I got eaten by a troll." She wiped her eyes.

"At first. You said you weren't going out to look for the trolls when you left, but, well. Sometimes things happen and we get caught up in things we don't mean. As soon as you didn't check in, I called Bobby, another friend. He went out looking for you. A few days later, Sam and Dean came back and they went to help them. They found the troll about a week ago, but you weren't there. And then, we got really worried."

"You got really worried after you found out I wasn't eaten by a troll. What kind of life to I lead?"

"Well..." Ellen was interrupted by a buzzing. She reached into her back pocket and pulled a phone out. "Dean? I found her. She's okay. A little banged up. Bruised and sore. I'm going to take her to the hospital. Jo and I are just... I don't know if that's a good idea, Dean." Her eyes flicked to Rachel's face. "Dean. She doesn't remember anything. No, I mean anything. Dean..." She sighed and pulled the phone away from her face. "He wants to talk to you."

Her shoulders tightened. "Um. Okay." She took the phone Ellen held out and put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Oh, God, Rach, it's good to hear your voice," a man said. Dean. Her husband.

She didn't know how to respond, so she said nothing.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I guess."

"Ellen said you were banged up? Anything broken?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay. Okay, good. Look. Ellen will take you to the hospital and me and Sammy will meet you there. We're about two hours away. We've checking motels and houses and everywhere we could think."

"Oh."

There was a silence. Then Dean said, "Ellen said you couldn't remember anything? Just about what happened, or..."

"I can't remember... I didn't even know my name. I mean, when the... when Jo said it, I recognized it. And when Ellen said your name, I knew it. I just don't... I don't know why."

He sighed. "Look, it's okay. We'll figure this out, babe. I promise. Do you trust me?"

Rachel bit her lip. Winced again. Considered his question. "Yes."

"I'm glad to hear that." And he sounded glad. More than glad, relieved.

"I lost my wedding ring."

Silence. Then, "That's okay. Don't worry about it. Just. Just try to focus on whatever. You know, remembering something. And... I'm coming. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you, Rachel."

What was she supposed to say? "Um. Thanks?"

He laughed gently. "Just... Put Ellen back on the phone."

She held the phone out to Ellen.

"Yeah?" Ellen listened to what Dean had to say, nodding. "Okay. I'll meet you there." She hung up. "So. We're going to the hospital. Dean wants us to take the key to the cabin and pay it up for the rest of the week, just in case."

"It's not there," Jo said, coming back into the front room. "But this was." She handed a piece of paper to Ellen, darting a glance at Rachel as she did.

Ellen frowned. "This..." She stopped. Smiled and shook her head. "It's nothing. Let's get you to the hospital."

She was lying.

"What was it?" Rachel asked.

"Don't worry about it. Really, it's not important."

Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. Glared.

"Baby..."

"Tell me. It has something to do with me. Maybe it will help me remember."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"What? Me remembering?" When Ellen didn't say anything, Rachel leaned forward and took the paper from her hand.

 _Thanks, Princess. It was great. Be seeing you soon._  
________________________________________

"Faster, baby, come on," Dean urged his car as he pressed the gas to the floor.

"Dean, you're not going to do her any good if you get us killed," Sam said. He was white knuckled as he gripped the dashboard and had been ever since Dean had narrowly avoided crashing a truck while passing some slow moving cars.

"Stop being such a pussy, Sam," he snapped. Restless, he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Bounced in his seat.

"We're almost there."

"Thank God," he muttered. Then he cleared his throat. "Look. We need to talk about this. About what to expect."

His neck tensed up. He tightened his jaw. "Expect? I expect to find Rachel, hurt, confused, and I expect to work at making her remember who she is and feel better. That's what I expect."

"She has amnesia."

"I know."

"You know what that could mean."

"It could mean a lot of things, Sam." He threw a look at his brother, warning him.

Sam looked stubborn. "You just need to be prepared. Just in case. She might be possessed, and we..."

"Shut up!" His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "I'm not stupid, okay? I know she might be possessed. And I'll do what has to be done. But that doesn't stop the fact that she's been found and she's hurt and she needs me."

"I know, but..."

"No buts. I know my job. Don't try and lecture me." His jaw ached from clenching it so hard. It'd been clenched for two weeks now, ever since Rachel had gone missing.

Two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, which was worse. At least when Sammy had been missing, he'd left. And he'd left a note. His cell phone had still worked. They'd known he was still alive.

With Rachel? Nothing. No phone, no note, no clue of anything after she'd left her hotel room the morning she went missing. People had seen her, dressed in jeans and hiking boots, carrying a backpack, heading off for the area the kids' bodies were found. And then...

Two weeks later, she's found in another state, wearing, Ellen said, a dress. No shoes, bruised and in pain. And, of course, with no memory.

That was the most worrying of all. No memory. In Dean's experience, no memory usually meant possession. Or torture. Dean wasn't sure which he'd prefer in this case.

"There's the turn," Sam said, pointing ahead.

The tires squealed. Another half-mile and there was the hospital. Dean parked in the first spot he found and was out of the car almost before he'd stopped.

"Slow down!" Sam called from behind him.

He didn't even bother to answer. Just barreled through the front doors of the hospital and to the information desk.

"Rachel Adams-Winchester," he demanded of the girl sitting behind.

"You a relation?"

"Yeah, I'm her husband."

Computer keys clacked. "Um... third floor. Room 15."

He took off again. Bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs. Heard the pound of Sam's feet behind him as he climbed.

Ellen, Jo, and Bobby were in the small waiting room by the elevator when Dean emerged. When she saw Dean, Ellen got to her feet.

"Where is she? Is she okay?" Dean demanded.

"Yes, she's fine. Dean." Ellen put both hands on his shoulders and held him back. "We need to talk."

"I need to see her."

She shook her head. Squeezed his shoulder. "We need to talk, Dean. The doctor wants to see you. Sit."

Bobby was coming from the hall with a doctor next to him. Bobby's face was grim and the doctor... the doctor was pretty much the same.

"Hi, I'm Doctor Klein." He held out his hand.

Dean took it and shook. "Dean. How's Rachel?"

"She's awake. Tired. She was a little dehydrated, so we've got her drinking lots of fluids. There were first degree burns on her skin that we treated. We gave her Tylenol for the soreness, which seems to be enough. There were traces of sulfur all over her. In her hair and clothes, especially. I really can't explain that, but thought it worth mentioning. Overall, Rachel is in good shape, except for her memory loss and... Um. Mr. Winchester, why don't we have a seat?"

Sam tugged Dean by the arm and pulled him into a chair. Ellen sat on the other side, her hand on his leg. The doctor sat across from him, face serious.

This was going to be bad.

"I'll start with her memory problems. Frankly, they have me baffled. It's quite common for people to, after a traumatic experience, to block out that experience. To wake up with no memory of how they got where they are or what happened. What doesn't happen is complete loss of memory. In fact, that type of amnesia is rare in any case. I've got Rachel scheduled for an MRI tomorrow, but until then, I really can't answer why she's forgotten so much. Or when her memory will return."

"Okay. What can I do?"

"Be patient. Don't push her to do anything she's uncomfortable with. Surround her with familiar objects and faces. Pictures are good. Going back to where she grew up would be helpful. Anything you can do to trigger her memory would help."

He glanced at Sam, who nodded.

"Okay. Okay. Her parents are coming, right? We called them let them know?"

"I called," Ellen said. "They should be here in an hour or two."

"And we'll take her home," Dean said. "Soon as she gets out of here. How long does she have to stay?"

"I think I can release her tomorrow after the scan." Dr. Klein clasped his hands together. Leaned forward. "Um. This is always hard to say, but, um. Rachel was raped, Dean. Or, at least, we're making the assumption it was rape. She can't remember, of course."

His stomach took a dive. And his lips went numb. That was weird. Like, his whole face was hot, except his couldn't feel his lips. And his head was spinning. Dizzy. "Um. She, uh..." It was hard to take a breath. "Is she hurt?"

"No. No, just the injuries I told you before. However, she was sexually active during the time period she was missing and because of the bruises and burns, combined with the memory loss, we're assuming it was rape. Now, your friend," he shot a glance at Ellen, "advised your wife not to release the collected evidence to the police until after she talked to you. I think you should encourage her to file a report, for her peace of mind if anything."

"Yeah, uh. Can I talk to her?"

"Do you have any questions before you do?"

The guy wanted him to think? "I just want to see her."

"Okay. She's still in shock. Please remember to be gentle with her."

"Yeah. No problem." He stood.

"I'll show you where the room is," Ellen said, standing with him. When they were down the hall, away from the doctor, she pressed something into his hand. "We found this in the bedroom. It's why I advised her not to file charges."

He looked at the note. "So, what? What's it mean?"

"She told me once that the demon called her princess," Ellen said. "It never called her by her name. It was just princess."

"Why... why... why..." Dean found he couldn't figure out how to end the sentence. How to even talk.

"Why would the demon kidnap and rape her?" Sam said at his side. Dean hadn't even realized his brother had followed them, but he was grateful for the support. And the voice.

Ellen shook her head. Shrugged. "Only thing I can think is to screw with you guys. Other than that, I don't know why."

"So. She's possibly possessed and..."

"No, she's not possessed. We gave holy water to drink."

That didn't ease Dean's mind much. He crumpled the note in his hand, then continued down to room fifteen.

"Hello?" he called from the door, not sure if he should just walk in or what.

"Come in."

He did.

Rachel was lying in the bed, watching the TV on the wall. She was, as reported, pale and bruised, but it wasn't as bad as Dean had feared. He'd kind of gotten it into his mind that everyone was trying to spare him the worst details. But she was okay, sort of.

She glanced at him, then turned off the TV. For a long moment, she just returned his gaze. Then her cheeks bloomed into color, red spreading over her face like a flame. She broke the eye contact and looked down at her hands. "Um. Um. Who are you?"

Fucking Goddamn shitty crap. "I'm Dean. Your husband."

Wide brown eyes snapped up. "You're my husband?"

"Yeah." He crossed the room to her and sat on the bed. "Why do you sound surprised?"

He didn't think it possible for her to blush any more hotly, but her face turned another shade of red. "I... I... I don't know. I just... Ah." She covered her face with her hands.

Dean pulled them away. Looked at her face, heart squeezing. "I was so worried," he said. He reached out and caressed her cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't. Not for anything. You don't anything to apologize for. Okay? Life we lead, it's not safe. And, uh. And it's looking like this happened because of me and my family, so I should be the one apologizing."

She looked up, blinking those long eyelashes as she did. "If we're married, doesn't that make us family?"

"Well, yeah. But... it's complicated."

"Did I choose to marry you?"

Sort of. Although, she did choose to stay, so... "Yeah."

"So, whatever complications there are, I must have accepted them when I married you. Unless I didn't know."

"Know, you knew. You totally knew. I don't... I mean, I tell you things. So... yeah."

"So. There you go. Not your fault either." She yawned and leaned back against the pillow.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. Tentatively, he took her hand, unsure if she'd allow him.

She tensed for a moment, then let her fingers curl in his. "I don't know. Numb. Scared." She blinked rapidly. "Who'd... who'd want to kidnap me? I mean, am I someone special or something, or just...easy."

"Neither. Wait, no. You're totally special. But..." Dean licked his lips. Sighed. "There's this demon after my family. It killed my mother. Sam's girlfriend. My dad. We think it grabbed you."

"But... but if it killed them, then why... why'd it..." She shuddered. "Um."

"I don't know," he said, not wanting to hear it again. "But I'll find out." He wiped a tear that was sliding down her cheek away. "I know you're probably sick of this question, but do you remember anything?"

"I don't know. I... everything you say? About demons and trolls and everything, I know all these details about them. Just tons. And I know not to say anything to the doctors about, because they'd think I was crazy. When I heard your and Sam's name, I knew they were familiar, but I don't... I don't have any particular memories about you. I can recite my multiplication facts, list the fifty states and their capitals in alphabetical order. I know how to bake chocolate chip cookies, tie my own shoes, and that the best way to kill a wawhee is to chop off its head. But I can't tell you my parents' names or where I grew up or where I went to college."

"Your parents are Chris and Janet Adams. You grew up in Hartford, Connecticut and you went to Yale. You majored in history. You'd always planned to go to England and be a historian. And, on the side, you were going to lay ghosts to rest. But, then I came into your life and messed that up."

She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously. Did you force me to marry you?"

"No." He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "I'm sorry. It's just that sometimes, I still can't believe we're married."

"How long?"

"About four months."

Rachel looked down at his hand. Twisted his ring around his finger. "Do you have pictures of our wedding?"

He exhaled hard. "Well, that's the thing. We kind of didn't have one."

"We were married by a judge?"

"If only it were that simple." He threaded their fingers together. "We kind of... are only sort of married. Sam drew up the papers as kind of a joke, only then he and I were hurt real bad and the hospital found them. Called you, thinking we were married. And because I don't have insurance, your dad did some fancy stuff with the computer and got me onto yours. You got the rings, came down, and, boom. We've been married ever since."

Her eyes were huge. Dark lashes against her pale cheeks.

God, she was beautiful.

"So. Do you love me?"

"God, yes. We're in love, okay? And we talk about having a wedding and everything, it just hasn't happened. We can. Now. If it's important to you."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just confused. That's all."

"I know. It's confusing. But whatever you want to know, I'll tell you."

Her face crumpled. "Why would someone want to do this to me? I don't understand. Why... Why would a demon rape me?"

"I don't know, baby." He hesitated, unsure what he should do. Then, when he saw the tears rushing down her face, he moved closer and gathered her into a tight hug.

She pressed her face into his shoulder, wetting his tee shirt. "Did it take my memory, too? Is that why I can't remember anything?"

"Probably." He rubbed her back and rubbed his cheek against her hair. He wanted to kiss her, to hold her tighter, to lay down and gather her against him and wrap his arms and legs around her, just so he could be sure she was really here. "It'll come back, Rachel. You already remember so much. It's just like a puzzle or something. You've got the outside. We'll work on the details."

"What if I never remember?"

Dean frowned. Pressed a kiss in her hair. "Then, I guess, we make new memories."

She pulled back. Wiped her eyes. "Do you care?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... what it did. To me." Her chin trembled and her nose was red and dripping snot. "Are you... disgusted?"

He leaned over and grabbed a tissue from the side table. "I'm angry, because you shouldn't have had to go through that. Even if you don't remember. And you shouldn't have to deal with it without remembering." He wiped her nose, then traced his thumb over her cheek and jaw. "But you could never disgust me, Rachel. You're beautiful and brilliant and funny and... and you. I'm just glad to have you back." He traced his finger over her ear.

Her fingers tightened on his arms. "I'm tired."

"Then get some rest." He pulled away. Wiped the last tear from her eye and tucked some hair behind her ear. "Can I stay?"

She nodded and lay back on the bed. "You know, I don't remember anything specific, but you make me feel safe."

Dean leaned over her and kissed her, very chastely, on the mouth. "You'll always be safe me," he said.

"Yeah." She smiled. Reached up and touched him lightly on the cheek. "I know."

* *  
 _It was dark. Cold. Night. Rain pattered outside, trickled in, soaking through her jeans. Her ankle throbbed; she couldn't move it. No matter how much she tugged, it remained wedged firmly in the crevice between the rocks. Her body was one huge aching bruise littered with scratches. Dirt caked her skin and clothes, twigs and leaves were in her hair._

 _At least the screaming had stopped. Small comfort, considering what that meant.  
She shifted her body, seeking a comfortable position. No matter how she moved, it seemed that she just rolled onto another hurt._

 _A leaf cracked at the mouth of the cave. Footsteps._

 _Her heart leapt to her throat._

 _"Rachel?"_

 _She knew that voice._

 _Light. The golden glow from a flashlight bathed her._

 _A man knelt in front of her. His face came into view._

Rachel woke with a gasp. Her heart was pounding, sweat slicked her skin. When she tried for another breath, she couldn't get it in. Her throat was closed. She couldn't breathe.

"Rachel? Rachel, breathe. Baby, you need to breathe."

She shook her head.

Dean's face swam into focus in front of her. His hands wrapped around her wrists and he held her safe. "Breathe, Rachel."  
He demonstrated by drawing a deep, slow breath through his nose.

Still shaking her head, she followed his example. Oxygen filled her lungs, taking her by surprise. She coughed. Panted.  
Took another shaky breath.

"Don't scare me like that," Dean said. Snapped, really. He pulled her to him and held her tight, face buried in her hair.

"S-sorry." She couldn't stop shaking.

Dean sighed. Kissed her hair. Down her face before pressing his face into her neck.

She let out another shaky breath and relaxed into his embrace. Maybe she didn't remember him, but she trusted him. He made her feel safe. Secure, and she needed it, adrift as she was. Needed something to cling to so she didn't wash away.

"Want to tell me what happened?" he asked after her breathing had returned to normal and trembling had died down. He pulled back and touched her cheek.

"I don't know." Eyes closed, she leaned into his touch. "I was dreaming."

His hand dropped to her wrist and he squeezed. "About what?" he asked, voice level.

Rachel closed her eyes, trying to remember. The dream was fleeing in wisps, tantalizing and dark. She tried to grasp them. "I don't... I was somewhere dark. A cave? It was cold, I was cold. And my ankle." Her eyes flew open. "My ankle was hurt."

"Yeah, the doctor said it was sprained. Not bad."

"It was caught. Stuck in something. I couldn't get it out." She frowned. Licked her bottom lip. "I think... I think maybe the troll got me."

Dean frowned. "But... Well, no offense, sweetheart, but if the troll got you two weeks ago, you'd be dead."

She pulled away. Crossed her arms over her chest. "What? I can't take care of myself?"

"Rach, it's not that..."

"If I'm no good, what was I doing out there in the first place?"

"Recon. Trying to figure things out, getting it all ready for me and Sam. That's what you're best at. Gathering information and facts, drawing conclusions."

"And that's all I'm good for."

Dean's jaw tightened and he looked away, not quite rolling his eyes but close to. "Look," he said, voice sharp. "You can fight, you can defend yourself. You can do it, all right? You've done it, you've saved my ass before and Sam's and your own. But... this isn't a job for a solitary person. That's all. Especially not..."

"A girl," she finished for him.

"My wife," he countered, eyes flashing.

She cocked an eyebrow.

He sighed. "Dad, Sammy, and I worked together until Sam went to school. Then it was Dad and me. And when Dad took off, I went and grabbed Sam. Even I try not to do this alone." Dean traced her jaw with his thumb. "If I got caught by a troll, got taken back to its lair, and no one knew where I was, then I'm pretty sure my number would be up. The troll didn't get you. It was just a dream."

"Unless." She stopped talking. Bit her bruised bottom lip.

"Unless what?"

"Unless... unless I was caught and it's the demon that got me out."

She could tell by the look on Dean's face that he hadn't considered that. His brow furrowed and he mouth opened and closed a few times without forming any words.

"Hey," Sam said from the doorway, two familiar strangers behind him. "Um, Rachel, your parents are here."

The strangers came quickly inside. The man, her father, sat nearest her at the head of the bed and pulled her into him. Her mother came around the other side of the bed.

"I'm sorry, baby," her father whispered, rocking her back and forth. "I know you don't remember us, but we've been so worried. Christ."

She shook her head, clutching his shirt in her fist. She didn't remember them, but she remembered this. His arms and his smell. The way it felt to rest her cheek against his arm.

"Daddy?" she said tentatively, not sure that was right.

He kissed the top of her head, then pulled away. "How are you feeling?" he asked, big hands framing her face.

"I don't know. Confused." She glanced over at her mother, who was teary eyed and pale. "I don't... I mean, I know you. Both of you. But I can't remember anything. Nothing specific."

"It's okay. We're going to figure this out." He wiped away a tear that was sliding down her cheek, and glanced at her mother.

"As soon as they released you, we're going to take you home," her mother said. "The doctor said that being in a familiar setting might trigger your memories."

"Is Dean coming?" she asked.

"Of course." Her mother reached out and touched her cheek with a gentle touch. "We want you to be comfortable and we want to help you remember who you are. Dean's part of that."

"And, maybe, after you're feeling better, the two of you might decide to have that wedding," her father added, tweaking her nose.

Tears stung her eyes. "Right."

His face fell. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I was only teasing. I should have..." He sighed and got off the bed. Walked to the wall and leaned against it.

"It's okay," she said, wiping a tear that fell. "I mean, I don't..." She glanced at Dean and blushed. "I hardly know you."

Dean shrugged. Reached out for her hand, which she gave him. "It'd be good for you to go home. It's a huge house with, like, a billion rooms. Almost a castle, really, which suits you. You know, like a princess."

A bolt of horror went through her. She jerked away, slamming into her mother, who was still behind her.  
Dean went the opposite way, jumping off the bed. His feet had hardly hit the ground before his brother smacked him on the back of the head.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"What do you think, moron?" Sam practically hissed. He pinched Dean's arm, causing him to yelp.

He gave his brother a wide-armed 'what' sign before his face lit with understanding. "Ah, Christ. I'm sorry, baby. I wasn't thinking. I'm..."

"I don't even remember!" she cried, out of bed now and pressed into the corner of the room. "I don't remember anything! I can't and I..." She sank into the corner, legs drawn to her chest. She pressed her forehead against her knees and began to sob.

"Shhh," her mother soothed.

Rachel was wrapped in a pair of familiar, comforting arms. Rocked and petted and caressed.

"Mom, I just want to go home."

"I know." She kissed Rachel's head and held her. "As soon as you're released, we're all going to fly back to Connecticut. You might not remember it, but it will be familiar. And maybe things will come back to you and you'll start relaxing. It will get better, baby. I promise."

"We'll figure this out, Rachel." Dean now, right in front of her. Patient and contrite and hesitant. "I swear."

She lifted her head and blinked tears away. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for." His lips quirked. "Me, on the other hand. My foot lives in my mouth when I'm around with you."

"Well. They say communication is the foundation of any good marriage. Even if you have to articulate around your foot."

"I'm sorry. I should have thought."

Rachel gave him a half smile, tears still sliding out of her eyes unbidden. "It's okay. I... I didn't know I'd react like that."

He took it. Squeezed. "Keep on reacting to anything. The more you do, the more we can maybe piece together what happened, right?"

"Right."

"Rachel Winchester?" a new voice said.

"Come on, honey," her mom said, helping her to her feet.

A nurse was in the doorway, wheelchair in front of him.

"Okay." She glanced at her father, then mother. "Are you two going to come?"

"Of course." Her dad came across the room and took her hand.

"How about I give you some time alone with your folks?" Dean said, his thumb caressing over the palm of the hand he was holding.

Fear gripped her; she hadn't been out of Dean's company since he'd first arrived at the hospital. He was the one thing she knew, and the one person she trusted implicitly.

But she couldn't cling to him forever. And she did know these were her parents. So, she nodded. "Okay."

He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then her lips. "I'll be right here waiting for you when you get back. I promise."

Every time he was this close, she was reminded of how incredibly beautiful he was. He made her blush and feel hot all over, and all he had to do was look at her. "Okay," she whispered, feeling as if she were on fire.

Dean let go of her and let her father lead her to the wheelchair. His gorgeous eyes were locked on hers as she sat down and was wheeled out of the room. When he was out of sight, she couldn't help feeling bereft. Cut adrift. But, since she'd been given every indication that before all of this, she'd been a strong person, she took a deep breath, squeezed her daddy's hand, and did her best to be strong.

* * *

As soon as Rachel was gone, Dean grunted and slapped his hand against the wall. "This," he said, turning to Sam, "is killing me."

Sam nodded, wearing that oh-so-patient look on his face that he was so good at. "I understand. But at least she trusts you."

"Yeah, but she can't remember anything. What happened to her, who I am, anything about us. It's.. I don't know what to do, man."

"Be patient. It's the only thing we can do."

"Well it's not enough! This is... You can't imagine, Sam. I mean, that damn demons kidnapped and raped her and took her God damn memory. Look at her! She's all banged up and bruised and looks like she's going to fall apart, and there's nothing I can do!"

"But she's alive," Sam said, voice soft. Even. Non accusing.

Still.

"Shit," Dean swore. He crossed the room and flopped on the bed. Closing his eyes, he draped on arm over his eyes. "Shit, Sam, I'm sorry. I... This is so fucked up."

"I'll give you that." The chair scraped over the colorless tile floor. Sam flicked Dean's forearm. "Dean, I'm not playing whose girlfriend had it worse. Which of us is suffering more. I mean, losing Jess was awful. The worst thing I thought could happen. And, while I'm glad Rachel didn't end up… like that, this is awful. Totally sucks. I mean… Christ."

Dean snorted. "You said it." He sat up. Rubbed his forehead. "Shit, I knew I should have stayed away from her. Knew it. Your stupid-ass joke made me slip up because I actually believed…."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't." He rolled his eyes. "I’m not blaming you. It's me. I knew. We're not meant for this, Sam." He looked at his brother, shaking his head. "You, me, Dad. We got a target painted on us. I knew that and I dragged her into it anyway."

"Yeah, because Rachel was so reluctant to get involved."

"Well, Christ, Sam, it ain't like you had to lock us in a room to get us to sleep together or anything."

Sam closed his eyes. He looked like he had a headache. And like he was trying not to pound Dean's face in. "That was different. You two were already going around everywhere telling everyone you were married and such. Rachel wasn't leaving. You just weren't having sex. Two different things."

He shrugged. He wasn't going to admit Sam had a point.

"Okay, so. Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I shouldn't have made that marriage license or kept it around just in case. I'm sorry. But."

When he didn't continue, Dean looked up. Sam was looking at him, waiting, serious look on his face.

"But?" Dean prompted.

"But, I haven't seen you this happy in, well. Ever. So. I'm sorry she was put in danger because of me. But I can't be sorry that the two of you are together. I just can't, Dean." He shrugged.

Dean sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, well. The hell of it is, I'm not really sorry, either." He thought about saying more, but just shrugged instead.

Silence. Doctors and nurses and patients walked passed in the hall. Idly, Dean wondered if there were any reapers around. Course, you couldn't kill death, and they were just doing their jobs. Still. The last time he'd been to a hospital, he'd almost died and Sam had said a reaper had been after him. Made the places, which had never been comfortable, downright creepy. He wanted to get out and get Rachel out as soon as possible.

"So," Sam said, breaking the silence. "You really going to fly to Connecticut?"

"What?"

"Didn't you hear Chris? Said they were going to fly Rachel home as soon as they checked her out. You going with them?"

"Ah, hell no. I'm not flying."

"I don't think they'd be willing to drive. It'd take two days and they want to get her home."

"Okay, well. They can fly. Rachel and I will drive."

"Dean. She wants to be with her parents."

"So, then, they'll fly, we'll follow."

"She wants to be with you."

"I'm not flying."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Statistically speaking…" His phone rang, interrupting. Sam pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open. "Yeah? Hey, Ash. No, I haven't." Sam frowned and looked at Dean. "He said what?" A pause, then Sam swore. "Okay, just… I'll talk about it with Dean and figure something out. Bye." He flipped his phone shut. "Nathan's about to do something stupid."

"Well, if he's anything like his sister, I'm not surprise." He rubbed his eyes. "What's he doing now?"

"He phoned Ash and said that he was going to find Rachel's things. Her laptop, her diary, everything."

"I thought Ellen said they weren't with her. And they weren't in the cave."

"Nathan thinks they must be. He thinks we missed something. That we saw the dead troll, burned it, and then left."

"We searched that cave from top to bottom, Sam. There wasn't anything there."

"I know that." Sam shrugged. "I'm going to go after him."

"What?"

"You don't need me here, and if something happens to Nathan, the Adamses are going to flip."

"Troll's dead."

"One is. What about its mate?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "We don't even know…"

"No, Dean, we don't," Sam interrupted. "We don't know if there was one troll or a clan. We don't know if the demon killed it or what. We don't know if the demon's targeting just us or their family, too, now. Seems to me that it'd be best if we don't send their son to the forest their daughter was abducted from. So. You go home with Rachel, I'll go after Nathan."

"You're just doing this so you can take the car and make me fly."

"For Christ's sake, Dean. Have a drink, take some drugs, do something. But get on the Goddamn plan with your wife and take her home, okay?"

Dean sighed. Nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Make sure that runt don't get himself killed, all right?"

Sam nodded. Smiled. "I will. And take care of her."

"I'll try."  
________________________________________

"What are you going here?" she demanded of the bulk of a man kneeling in front of her.

Large, rough hands gently rubbed thick cream around her stuck ankle. Fingers trailed in and out of the cracks, giving a caress every time she flinched. "Looks like I'm rescuing you. Seemed like you need some help."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

He looked up. Smiled. "I know, little girl. I…"

Rachel jerked awake, heart pounding, at the touch on her shoulder. She sat up, looked around. Her fists were clenched.

"Sorry." Dean was sitting next to her, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, didn't mean to… Uh. To, uh. You know."

"Right." She took a deep breath. Ran shaking hands through her hair. "You okay?"

"Me? Yeah. Great. I, uh. Great." He screwed the palm of his hand against his eyes. "Stupid drugs. Jesus. Feel like my head's full of cotton."

Oh, yeah. Some of the cobwebs in her head cleared. They were in Hartford, at her parents' house. She and Dean had both been given sedatives--Rachel because her blood pressure was through the roof and Dean because he wouldn't have been able to get on the plan otherwise. The drugs had done their work; she barely remembered the flight or getting here.

She did remember her father having to carry her up the stairs to her room and Dean having to lean heavily on her mom to get up.

"Wouldn't have thought you were such a lightweight," she said. She combed her fingers through her hair, breaking the tangles. Started to braid it back.

"Those things were would take out a horse." He picked some sleep out of his eye, then looked around the room. "What time is it?"

The clock was on the bed table next to her. "Um, ten-thirty."

He nodded. Slid off the bed and started wandering the room. "Your parents are funny. I thought parents of daughters would be more… guarded about them. Protective. But your folks just, you know. Dumped me right in bed with you. In a room with… My Little Ponies all over."

"There are three," she pointed out as Dean made one prance.

He shot her a grin. "There are three." He put it down. Started looking over her books. "Okay, so, you had a ton of books back at your apartment. There are about a million of them here. How many books do you own?"

"Like I know."

"Right." Dean turned and went back to the bed. "This triggering anything?"

Rachel shook her head. Slid her legs off the bed and picked up a figurine off the end table. It was a small sculpture of the archangel, Michael, holding his sword and looking fierce. "It's weird," she said, setting it back on the table. She picked up a picture of her family next. "I know of this is mine. When I see it, I know. But, there's no specific memory associated with any of them." She looked up at him. "With anything. Anybody."

He sat next to her and put his arm around her. "We'll get it back," he said. Pressed a kiss against her forehead. "It'll be okay. I promise."

She leaned against him. Pressed her face against his chest and breathed him in. Felt the tightness in her stomach uncoil, some of the fear and stress recede. "How did we meet?"

He rubbed her arm. Kissed her again. "On a case. Me and Sam came out to investigate some deaths at a local in. You were friends with the manager and were looking into it. We found you inside investigating and then, again, when we came back that night to hunt."

"What did you think of me? I mean, first impressions?"

"Well, first impressions, I thought you were gorgeous. You seemed kind of confused when I flirted with you, which was cute." He squeezed her arm, then reached down for her hand. "Then, uh. That night I was kind of pissed. You were in trouble and we lost the ghost. There was a lot of screaming and…. I don't know. You drove me crazy. Everything about you. The fact you knew about the world, the fact you were hunting. That you were beautiful and funny and… everything."

Rachel pulled away. Looked at him.

He smiled. Traced her lips with his thumb. "I wanted you so bad. I couldn't concentrate on anything else because all I wanted to do was take you to bed and… well. Get rid of every expression I'd seen on your face and replace it with one of satisfaction. 'Cause, believe me. You would have been very satisfied."

She could feel her face turning red. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"We didn't sleep together. I couldn't. One, we were too busy. And sharing a room with Sammy. But, uh. I might have, after, if Sammy hadn't had that dream."

"Dream?"

"That the demon killed you."

Rachel sighed. "It always comes back to him, doesn't it?"

"Kinda. I'm sorry, Rach. I really am."

"Do you love me?"

"Yeah."

She shrugged. "And I'm told I love you. And we can't live our lives worrying about what might happen. So. You left. Did we keep in touch?"

"Sorta. Mostly you and Sammy would talk and e-mail and stuff. I didn't."

"Why not?"

He shook his head. Cupped her cheek. "I couldn't get you out of my mind. It was insane. I'd never met a girl who I couldn't forget."

Rachel laughed. "Oh my God. I can't believe you said that."

"Well. You know what I mean. I mean, I've been in love before, but I guess it was different. I don’t know. I can't explain it. But, I mean, I hadn't slept with you, you drove me crazy, and all I could think about was you. So. I stayed away. I stayed until Sam dragged me back on a case. And even then, I was good. You had a boyfriend and I…. But then your boyfriend turned out to be a kitsune and we had to save you and…"

"Did something happen between us then?"

"Almost. But then you reminded me why I couldn't, and I left. It was going to stay that way this time until I got hurt and they called you, thinking you were my wife." He leaned in, watching her carefully. When she didn't pull back, he kissed her. Softly. Then deeper. Mouth open, tongue gently touching hers.

Then deeper and more and… God.

His arms went around her and he lowered her to the bed. One hand was in her hair and the other stroking down her neck.  
Rachel kissed Dean back but opened her eyes. She watched him as he kissed down her jaw, her neck. Kissed over her breast, still covered by her tee-shirt. Placed wet, open mouthed kisses on her arm, tracing burn marks and bruises and scratches with the tip of his tongue.

He pulled up. Hovered over her. "You okay?" he asked.

She stared up at him and, for a moment, he seemed to change. Morph into someone else, someone larger, broader, darker. And then he snapped back, green eyes gazing into hers, freckles across his nose and… just beautiful.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She raised her head and met his mouth with hers. Kissed him and wrapped her arms around his neck and just felt… safe.

There was a knock at the door. "Rachel? Dean? You awake?"

Dean was off her and across the room in the blink of an eye.

Rachel pushed herself up. Ran her hands over her hair, which Dean had pulled out of its braid. "Yeah, Mom. We're up."  
The door opened and her mother came in. "We've held breakfast for you," she said, glancing at them both. "And pulled out all the photo albums. We thought you might want to look at them, see if it jogs any memories."

"Sounds good. I just need to wash up."

Her mother nodded. "Okay. See you in a few." She left, closing the door.

"Ah, man, I hate parents," Dean said. He had his hands over his crotch and a seriously pained look on his face.

She smiled crookedly. "Sorry. I guess they're kind of concerned with reviving my memory and all that."

"Maybe sex is the way to do that."

"Yeah, I don't think so. Nice try." Rachel climbed off the bed and crossed the room. "Dean. Were you my first?"

"What makes you think that?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her. "You are a gorgeous, brilliant woman that any man would be lucky to be with."

She just cocked her head and looked at him.

He laughed and rolled his eyes. "And that's why I've never been figure out how you never had sex with anyone before me."  
He lowered his head and kissed her. "How'd you know?"

"I don't know. I just did, I guess. Just knew."

"We're going to get your memories back, Rach." He kissed her and hugged her tightly. "I promise."

She rested her head over his heart. Listened to the steady thrum. A strange feeling of déjà vu settled over her. "I believe you," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "I know we will."

* * *

Sam pulled into a parking space and turned off the ignition to his car. His head hurt and he was tired from driving. The sun had been blaring through the window for most of the drive, and, once it was gone, the copious amount of coffee he'd drunk to keep him awake hadn't helped. He was exhausted after driving nearly nine hours almost straight, and he still wasn't done.

He should sleep, he knew, but he didn't want to. There was this itchy, uncomfortable feeling about him that had been there ever since he'd spoken to Ash.

It was probably just Rachel. The demon was having fun with them the same way it always did. Kill their lovers, send dreams, kidnap. It was the same deal.

And yet… the idea of another Adams at the same place where one had been kidnapped from? Made Sam feel queasy and rotten.

Besides. He wasn't doing any good, sitting around with Rachel and her family. Hoping that Rachel's memory might jog while staring at pictures and artifacts of a life Sam had never had a part of. That was for Dean to do. He was her husband, he was the one who should be by her side.

Sam was enough in their way as it was. He couldn't give them the time alone under normal circumstances. This, he could do.  
Dean was the only one who knew why he'd gone. He didn't want Rachel's parents to worry about Nathan, so he'd just mentioned getting a tip about a ghost somewhere. And that he'd be in touch.

Unfortunately, that left him looking for a man whose face he didn't know without so much as a picture. A fucking needle in a haystack.

He should have invited Ash along. Rumor was, he knew Nathan quite intimately.

Sam shook his head and climbed out of his car. He and Dean had been here over a week ago, at the motel Rachel had stayed in. When she'd gone missing, they looked here for clues only to fine none. Sam still didn't know what Nathan expected to find when they'd already canvassed the area.

The man behind the counter was different than the one who'd been here when Dean and Sam had been here before. He was looking at the computer, clicking, obviously playing solitaire or something. Not working.

"Hey," Sam said, walking up to the counter. "I'm looking for someone. A guy about my age, a little younger. He's, uh…" He faltered, then continued, "shorter than me, has…"

The guy interrupted, laughing. "Everyone's shorter than you, kid. You'll have to be more specific."

He sighed, irritated. "Okay, yeah. He's got brown hair, brown eyes. Probably around this height." He indicated around his shoulder, a couple inches above Rachel. She'd mentioned once they were both around the same size, so he was guessing.  
"Freckles. Kind of looks like this, only a boy." He pulled out his wallet and pulled out the picture of Rachel he'd started carrying when she was missing.

The man took the picture. Frowned at it. "Well, she looks familiar."

"Yeah, uh. That's my sister-in-law. She was staying here a few weeks ago. Went missing."

"Right. Right, that girl. Uh… Rachel something, right?"

"Yeah."

"I vaguely remember her. Real sweet kid. Quiet. Read a lot. Would come down for breakfast every morning and sit there with a book. What happened? Anyone find her?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, she turned up the other day. Bruised and stuff, but she'll be okay. But her stuff's missing and her brother, the guy I'm looking for? He's looking for it."

"Well, don't she remember where it is?"

He refrained from snapping the answer. After all, this guy didn't know and it wasn't like it was something to be expected. So, Sam just said, "No. She doesn't." Then, with a shrug, "She's kind of traumatized. Doesn't remember much."

A look of understanding came over the man's face. He nodded. "Well, you guys looked through the lost possessions stuff, right?"

"When we came through, yeah. I don't know what Nathan thinks he's going to find, but…"

"It's his sister?" The guy pushed himself away from the counter. Stretched. "He's probably looking for something to kill."

Sam nodded. "Probably." If it was Dean…

The man grabbed the phone and dialed. A moment later he said, "Hey, Trish. Did a guy named Nathan come by earlier? Looking for his missing…." He stopped. Looked up at Sam. Nodded. "Okay. Thanks. See you later." He hung up. "He's with Trish. She lives above the café across the street, and it's full of people, so if you try anything, they're going to know."

"I'm not going to try anything," Sam promised. "Thanks."

"Good luck. And I hope that girl is going to be okay."

"Thanks, man. Me too." Sam tapped his hand on the counter then left.

It was a smallish town, very touristy. Would be. The town bordered a sort of woodland that had been dubbed Troll Woods by the locals. Before the attacks started, they'd promoted it as a tourist destination. The local rangers took people on tours of caves and the like. Statues of trolls were in the town, stories, the whole nine yards. All fun and games before children started disappearing. Seemed that any real troll experts that may have once lived here had all left or died, and no one realized that the stories had once been true. And, there'd been no one left to track the hibernation cycles of the trolls or to warn anyone when they'd wake.

Hence the deaths.

Of course, Sam, Dean, and Rachel had learned all this in retrospect. All they had known was there were troll-like killings. Rachel had come out to do the research, figure out what was going on. She'd just uncovered the information about the hibernation cycles the day before she disappeared. The last thing they'd heard from her was that she'd found a spell to ward off the area that would discourage people, especially kids, from going near the trolls' lair until Sam and Dean came out for the kill.

And then… nothing.

Peer Gynt Café was a kitsch little place with tacky decorations and great smelling coffee. Sam bypassed it for the stairs that ran up alongside the building. Up to the apartment, knocking on the door.

"Hang on!" a female voice called. There was the pounding of feet, then the door flew open to reveal a tiny, pixie-faced girl with spiky bleach-blond hair, a lot of eyeliner, and startling blue eyes. "Can I help you?" she asked, clicking her tongue ring against her teeth.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, blinking down at her. She was wearing a pair of baggy cargo pants and a sheer bra and seemed completely unconcerned with the fact Sam could see her nipples poking through the fabric. "I'm looking for Nathan?"

The girl he assumed was Trish stepped back, turning away. "Nathan!"

A moment later, a male version of Rachel emerged from the back room. He, too, was shirtless. More surprisingly were both the eye make-up and the tattoos on his shoulder and chest. "Hey, you're Sam," he said, sleepy-eyed and surprised. He picked up his shit from the floor and tugged it over his head.

"And you're Nathan."

It wasn't exactly fair to say Nathan was a female version of Rachel. The resemblance was definitely there: the big brown eyes they shared with their father, similar colored hair (although Rachel's was darker), and the same kind of pointed features. Still. There were differences. Nathan had thinner lips and longer eyelashes. There was more mischief in his face, more -confidence. And… well. Differences.

But definitely her brother.

Nathan nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you." He glanced at Trish, who was now perched on her couch. "Um. Can we go downstairs? Maybe get a coffee or something?"

"Sure." He glanced at Trish. "Um, look. I don't know how long this is going to take, but…"

"I'm here all night," Trish said brightly. "I go to work at five, so, anytime you want to come back…"

Sam grabbed Nathan by the shoulder. "Sorry, Trish, I think that Nathan's going to be leaving town."

"Yeah, no, I'm not. But I'll give you a call, Trish."

"Okay. Later."

Nathan allowed himself to be propelled out the door. Once they were halfway down, he said, "Dude, that was not cool."

"What, telling her the truth?"

"Cock-blocking me."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Nathan, your sister has been missing for two weeks. She's turned up with no memory and instead of going home to help her, you're trying to get laid? That's not cool."

"Hey, I'm trying to figure out what happened to her. Where her stuff is. Getting laid was incidental." He pushed the door to Peer Gynt's Café open and stalked to the nearest open booth. His chin had a familiar stubborn clench to it.

Great.

He followed Nathan's example and had a seat. Ordered a cup of coffee and a burger when the waitress came over, and let Nathan calm down enough for him to stop clenching his jaw. "Okay, sorry. I shouldn't have implied you were just out here trying to get laid."

Nathan shrugged, looking down at the table top.

"You know, I kind of thought you were gay." Sam winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Generally, it was harder to get on someone's good side if you started suggesting they were gay.

He didn't seem to take offense, though. Just blinked up at Sam and said, "Why?"

"I, uh." He cleared his throat. "I kind of heard something about you and Ash."

"Ash? Then we were probably high," Nathan said. Then he grinned. "Anyway, my sexuality is very… fluid. I swing any way the wind blows."

"Ah. Ah!" Sam yelped, jumping as Nathan's foot ran up his calf. He squirmed away, face heating. "No. No. Just… no."

Nathan laughed. Rolled his eyes. "I think you have issues."

"I think you're my sister's brother. Sister-in-law. Sister-in-law's brother." He moved away from Nathan's foot, parking himself at the end of the booth. "Look, can you not? Right now. Please?"

"Yeah." Nathan gave him a look, then a slow smile. "Right now. I won't."

Shit.

"So." Nathan picked up the sugar and began pouring it into his coffee. Like his sister, he took it way too sweet, and Sam winced at the amount of sugar that went into the beverage. "What brings you here?"

"Like I said, I'm looking for you. I figured I could make sure you weren't getting into any trouble. And get you home."

"I don't need a baby-sitter."

"Rachel disappeared from around here. I want to make sure another Adams kid doesn't do the same."

Nathan grimaced. Stirred his coffee. "I don't think this thing is targeting us. I mean, as a family." He lifted the mug and took a drink.

"No, it's targeting my family."

"I think this time, it was targeting her, specifically. Don't know why…"

"Because of Dean."

"Well, yeah. But, still. Okay, not to bring up any unpleasant memories or anything, but your mom was killed because she was with you. And your girlfriend was killed because she was with you. And you're the psychic or… or whatever you are. And Dean is just… well, there's no record of anything supernatural going after him. Or of the demon going after him."

Sam swallowed, feeling a little queasy. He took a sip of his coffee, then set it down. Turned it around in an idle circle. "No. It hasn't ever gone after Dean. Not unless I was around or we were attacking him." And this was something that had been bugging him since they'd found Rachel: why kidnap her, why let her go, and why her? "So you think it went after her. Specifically."

Nathan nodded. "I do. I just don't know why. So, I'm here."

"And that's what I don't get. Why come here? Dean and I already came through and we didn't find anything. Rachel… Rachel's got to know, somehow. Somewhere in her mind, it's got to be there."

"And somewhere out here has got to be her computer and her journal," Nathan countered. "There's nothing I can do to bring her memory back. I can find her belongings, which might contain clues."

Sam shook his head. "The doctors said that familiar people and surroundings might bring her memory back. You're familiar."  
"She doesn't need me."

"You're her brother."

Nathan clenched his hand around the coffee mug. Shook his head. His eyes were suddenly, suspiciously bright. "I can't."

"She needs you, Nathan."

"I can't."

Sam's breath caught. He knew that desperation, that despair. He'd felt so many times, especially recently. Anytime Dean was hurt, when he was near death, he'd felt it. "Nathan…"

"Look, I know that you are the best brother ever," Nathan said hoarsely. "That you would do anything for him, including the incredibly stupid thing of going to a frigging faith healer. And I would do the same for her, only I can't face her right now. I can't… I can't look at her and know and … I have this imagination, right? It's awful. She used to come in when I had nightmares and I'd wake up screaming from them, and she'd sit with me until everything was better. Until I felt better, but, God. But she made it better. Would sing to me. Have you heard her sing?"

He had. And he couldn't help the grimace.

Nathan laughed, and a tear slipped from his eye, quickly brushed away. "She's not bad, she's just not good, but… but back then, it was like an angel singing, making everything better. And now, you know, I'm supposed to be a feminist and I know she can take care of herself, but I’m pissed that I wasn't there to help her. That you guys didn't protect her. That I didn't…" He swiped at ¬his eyes again. "If I see her all bruised and burned and whatever, all I'm going to picture is her terrified and being… being hurt and… and…" His voice broke. He lifted one fist and pressed it to his mouth, looking away from Sam and blinking rapidly.

Sam exhaled slowly. Tapped his fingers on the table and watched the man across from him. Waited until he pulled himself together and turned back, still avoiding eye contact with Sam.

"So," Sam said when Nathan was once again composed. "Where should we start?"

* * *

"And this is you in seventh grade. Princess Leia," her father said, pulling out yet another photograph. He handed it to Rachel.

Rachel looked down at the picture, a smile coming to her lips. She was dressed in the her classic white dress and side buns. They looked real, not like a wig, but since she had super-long hair now, she wasn't exactly surprised. She was beaming up at the camera, pillowcase clutched in one hand, blaster in another. Next to her was brother, Nathan . He was dressed almost exactly the same, except his dress was black, face painted white, and there were dark circles around his eyes and blood dripping from his mouth.

"Let me guess," she said. "Nathan's dressed up as Evil Princess Leia."

Dad smiled and rolled his eyes. "Got it in one."

Dean leaned over her and took the picture. "So, basically, for three years straight, this kid just dressed up as whatever  
Rachel did, only evil and bloody and whatever."

"Yes."

"And you let him?"

Dr. Adams smiled and shrugged.

"He's wearing a dress."

"Technically, it's a robe. He's got pants underneath them."

"I think it's funny," Rachel said, taking the picture back. God, she looked so young. A stranger, so happy and carefree.  
"Did I think it was funny back then?"

"Sometimes. Yeah, you did," her mother replied. "The two of you get along well. Though that particular year you did beg him to be Luke. And were put out when he wasn't."

"Until it turned out that Daniel Hunter dressed as Luke," Dr. Adams added with a smile. "The two of you got to enter the costume contest together." He reached out and tugged at her hair.

Dean nudged her. As he did, he slipped the picture from her fingers. "Daniel Hunter?"

"Like I have any clue?" she snapped back. Frustration clawed at her throat. "You know, don't even bother to keep it." She reached over to the steadily growing pile of pictures he was collecting of her and snatched it.

He took it back. "You okay?" He ran a thumb down her jaw, all concern.

She pulled away. "I know I'm here to try to remember everything, but it's not working. It's all familiar, but I can't… I'm not remembering anything. There's nothing that's sparking. No memory that's rising to the surface."

"It might take some time, honey," her mother said.

"I know." Rachel rubbed her eyes, then at her mother, tears in her eyes. "I'm tired. And I feel like it's all too much. I just need to be alone or something. Rest. Take a shower or something. I feel disgusting. I smell like the hospital and I just…"

"Honey. Rachel, it's okay." Her mother took her hands and squeezed them. "I'm sorry. We didn't think. Of course this is overwhelming. We've been here for almost three hours. Why don't you go upstairs and take a bath, maybe take a nap. Just, let everything sink in without you thinking about it for a little while. Let it all go. Okay?"

She nodded. Brushed tears from her eyes. "Okay."

Her mother rose, then bent over her, kissing her forehead. "All right, then. You go upstairs. I'll send some lunch up in a half-an-hour. And take as long as you need."

"Thanks." Her throat clogged. The tears pressed against her eyes more insistently. She closed them tightly, fighting them back. Not wanting to lose it, not wanting…

There was a warm, Dean-pressure on her side. " Rachel?"

Rachel opened her eyes and looked at him. "What are you going to do while I'm upstairs?"

Dean grinned. "I don't know. Watch TV. Call Sam. Don't worry about it. I can take care of myself."

"So can I." But it came out uncertain. Timid.

He gave her a half-smile. Nudged her. "Yeah. You can." He kissed her cheek, then pushed her away.

She wanted to be alone. But it was hard to make herself go upstairs. Close the door behind her. Because ever since she'd been found, she hadn't been alone. There'd been doctors and nurses and Ellen and Jo. Bobby and Dean and Sam and… Dean.  
But once upon a time she'd been the type of girl to travel miles and miles away from her parents and her husband to gather information about a troll. Who'd traveled across country to take care of the man downstairs, his brother, and father while all unconscious from the demon attack. Apparently, she'd been self-sufficient and kind of brave. She could go upstairs and take a bath all by herself.

Her bedroom had a bathroom attached to it. It was big, with a nice, deep bathtub along one wall that was long enough to stretch out in. She started it, adding bubbles from a bottle sitting on the edge of the tub. Then, as the tub filled, she turned to the sink and mirror along the other wall.

Rachel hadn’t looked at her body since she'd woken up. At the hospital, she'd rushed through her shower and had only glanced. Seen the bruises and scratches, but hadn't examined them. Hadn't seen the damage full on. Now was the time. So, with her heart in her throat, Rachel took off her clothes and stood, naked, in front of the mirror.

She started at her face, which she'd seen. Grown familiar with the brown eyes rimmed by black eyelashes. Her nose was a little long, kind of pointed. Chin pointed, lips full. Pale skin with a couple of scattered freckles here and there. Pretty-ish, nothing spectacular, no matter how much Dean asserted otherwise.

Her hair hung to just above her hips, dark brown with split ends and knots. It needed a trim and a wash and conditioning. She was pale all over, but her hands and arms were a kind of sickly pale, like she'd had a tan that was fading from not seeing the sun for a period of time. She was slim, not thin, with round hips and a sort of swell over her belly.  
Her breasts, according to her bra, were size B's. Even still, there were some stretch marks. There were also marks on her thighs and, she discovered when she turned, on her bottom.

Rachel took a breath. Her body fell into that unknown yet familiar place. It was the marks on it that she wanted to examine. To see if they sparked any memory. Yes, she was tired and overwhelmed, but that was the pictures and the feelings that she should remember them, but didn't.

This was her body. Even if she didn't remember, she needed to know it.

Taking another breath, she moved closer to the mirror. Touched the bruise on her neck, just under her chin. And another, further down. A bite mark above her collarbone. And..

Dark hair in her face, lips against the soft skin under her ear, licking.

She jerked her hand away. Her heart pounded, and she waited. Not even daring to move as she waited to see if more of the memory would unfurl.

There was the faint impression of a body against hers and a voice whispering and then it was gone.

Rachel shook her head, disappointed. Still, it was a memory, no matter how fleeting. Something encouraging.

She continued her journey down her body, fingers tracing skin.

There was a bright red mark on her right breast. A suck mark. A hickey. She fingered it, then slid to her left breast.  
Her left breast looked… ravaged. While her right had the hickey and nothing else, the left had…bite marks. Lots of them, scoring the flesh, over and over again. They were angry, dark, deliberate and…

She was held down. Wrists pinned and he was biting her and hurting and …

Her stomach twisted. Rachel found herself leaning over the toilet, retching. Shaking.

Teeth raking down her skin. A body against hers, heaving. Confining. Hot, fiery pain thrusting into her. A voice, growling into her ear as she tried to twist away. Hands on her throat. She couldn't breathe. There was no air. She bit her lip. A scream built in her throat. The tears flowed down her face. She couldn't…

"No!" Rachel's clenched her hands in her hair. Tore, trying to banish the memories.

Okay, so maybe she didn't want to remember this. Not what happened those missing weeks at the cabin. Her life, yes. But that…

Rachel turned away from the mirror. The tub was full, so she climbed in and sank into the lavender scented water. The warmth embraced her, seeping into sore muscles and encouraging them to relax. Bubbles tickled her chin. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Ran her hands down slick skin and just… drifted. Let her mind wander from Dean to her parents to the pictures, never lingering on anything for too long. Her brain hurt from trying to remember everything, and now even it seemed to be relaxing. Unknotting.

 _Laughter. Someone holding her foot. Rubbing it. Kissing the bottom. Tickling the back of her knee. A hand sliding up the inside of her thigh. A body following, landing on her. More laughter. Fingers caressing her chin. A mouth on hers.  
Kissing her and she was kissing back. Her body was on fire. Legs wrapping around his waist. Arching up and… _

Rachel opened her eyes. Lifted her hands out of the water, feeling betrayed by them. Her body was hot, skin flushed, blood fizzling in her veins.

What had that been?

"Dean." That had to be it. They were married. They must have taken a bath together at some point. That had to be it.

That so wasn't it.

Even without seeing the man in that memory, without knowing his face, she knew it wasn't Dean. Knew with everything in her. But she didn't know who it was. It couldn't have been the demon. The person in that memory had been kind. Affection. Gentle towards her. He'd touched her with reverence and love.

And Rachel had felt… something. Affection back. Desire for him. When he touched her, she'd been turned on.

So. Who the hell was it?

Okay, so she didn't exactly know her sexual history. Dean had said that he was her first. She believed him. Somehow, she knew that he was first guy she'd had sex with.

But that didn't mean she hadn't fooled around with anyone before him. Maybe she'd taken a bath with someone. Maybe…

No. Because she and that man had been having sex. And it hadn't been Dean.

Which begged the question: was Rachel the kind of woman who would cheat on her husband? And, if she hadn't cheated, what was that memory?

The same, choking frustration as before rose in her throat. This time, she let the tears come. She needed to cry. Deserved it. Not being able to remember, being a stranger in her own home, her marriage, her body. It wasn't fair and it was just too much.

Rachel leaned back in the bath. Allowed the water to cover her once more. Pressed her hands to her face and just sobbed. Cried and wished there was something to make the pain in her heart, the emptiness in her stomach was gone.

She cried until it hurt. Until her eyes were swollen and throat sore. Her nose was wet and dripping and her chest ached.

There was a knock at the door. "Rachel?"

Dean.

"Can I come in?"

She sniffed. "Okay." She grabbed the washcloth and draped it over her breasts and she slid further under the bubbles.

The door opened and Dean came in. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the tub. Not looking at her, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Her voice was hoarse. Just a croak, from all the crying.

He reached back into the water. Found her hand. "You know, it's going to be okay."

"I know."

Dean turned. Met her eyes. Still holding her hand, he slid off the ledge of the tub. Knelt on the floor. With his free hand, he reached out. Stroked Rachel's jaw.

"Dean. Have we ever had sex in the bathtub?"

"No. Why? You offering?" He gave her that grin. That beautiful, boyish grin suffused with charm.

"Not right now." She rested her palm against his cheek.

"Too bad." He glanced down at the slowly dissipating bubbles. At the swell of her breasts beneath the wash cloth. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Rachel said. She shook her head, mind turning over that strange memory once again. "Just wondering."

* * *

"Heh."

Dean opened his eyes at the sound. Found the room around him bathed in a soft, golden light. It was something he was becoming increasingly familiar with. Rachel suffered monthly bouts of insomnia that kept her up reading, researching, or on her computer for most of the night. Nights they didn't hunt, at any rate. Whenever she made a sound, he was jarred awake. Not all the way, just enough to assure himself that nothing was wrong, then roll over and go back to sleep.

He just lay there a moment, allowing himself to be lulled by the familiarity of it all. When they'd gone to bed, he'd offered to stay in another room. He hadn't wanted to; two weeks of not knowing where she'd gone topped with finding out what had happened had left Dean a tad… clingy. Overprotective, yes, but also in need of reassurance himself. Needing to know she was there.

But. To Rachel, he was a stranger. And she'd been traumatized, even if she couldn't remember everything. It was in her, though, and he didn't want to hurt her further. So, he'd offered.

His relief when she'd turned down his offer had been nearly overwhelming. He'd tried to keep it hidden, but her eyes had sort of twinkled at him.

"You keep me calm," she'd said as they climbed into bed together. "I know you belong here, next to me. It's familiar."

So, he stayed.

Now, he lay next to her. Listened to her breath. Steady, even. Humming softly every few minutes. Clearing her throat.

She laughed again.

"What are you reading?" he asked, sitting up.

Rachel looked up from the book opened across her knees. Blushed at him, and smiled shyly. "I, uh. I found my diaries. I was reading them."

He rubbed his eyes. Yawned and propped himself on a pillow. "Anything interesting?"

"I guess. It's all familiar, even if I don't completely remember it. But, then, I don't know how much of my childhood I remember anyway." She trailed her fingers over the page.

"Sometimes everything from when I was young seems like kind of a blur," Dean said. He closed his eyes. "What really kills me is…" He trailed off, not wanting to voice it.

Rachel's fingers trailed through his hair. "How old were you when your mom died?"

Even with her mind gone, she could still read his.

Dean moved closer to her until he could rest his head in her lap. "Four."

She continued to massage his scalp. Combing through his hair, down his neck and back up. "Did many pictures of her survive?"

"No. A few that were in my dad's wallet." He licked his lips. "I can remember things. Sometimes I catch the scent of her shampoo or perfume and I get these really vivid flashes of her. I remember the lullaby she used to sing. Sometimes, I can still hear her singing it, but only just before I fall asleep." He swallowed. "Sometimes Dad would talk about her. To me. Not Sam so much. But, uh. The older I got, he'd say things about her, expecting me to remember. Agree. Add something. But I couldn't. I didn't remember."

"Maybe he was just trying to share her with you. So you had a piece of her."

"Never felt that way. He'd always get that disappointed look in his eyes when I didn't say anything. Like I'd failed him."

"Mary was the center of his world. Maybe when you didn't say anything, he thought… thought you didn't care. Didn't want to know. Or were uncomfortable. He wasn't exactly comfortable with sharing how he felt."

He opened his eyes and sat up. "How do you know that?"

Rachel blinked at him. Frowned, then shook her head. "I don't… I don't. I just was…. Well. You're not a huge talker, right?"

"Not really. More with you than others."

"I imagine you're a lot like your father. And it just seems to follow. That he was kind of unsure how to share her with you. Remind you, without getting lost and feeling sad."

Dean looked down at the journal lying open on the bed between them. "Maybe you're right." He sighed. "I wanted to hear, but it made me uncomfortable. I should have appreciated it more. Him more."

"I think everyone feels like that. Wishes they'd appreciated people and memories and… moments." She smiled sadly and rolled her eyes. "I guess, since everything is new, I better just start… making sure I appreciate everything now."

He took her hands in his. "It'll come back to you."

"I know."

"Hey." He caught her chin and raised it. Looked into her eyes. "It'll come back to you. And, on the off chance it doesn't, we'll make new memories."

She grinned, blushing. "And I'll appreciate every one of those."

He leaned forward and kissed her. "Yeah, you will." Kissed her again. When he pulled back, he picked up her diary. "'Dear Annie,'" he read. "Who's Annie?"

"According to the beginning of the journal, just the name of the diary. I wanted to pretend I was writing to someone. So, I chose Annie."

"Like… Little Orphan Annie, Annie?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Girls are weird," he muttered. "'Dear Annie. Today was the first day of school. I'm in second grade. My teacher is Mrs. Guest. She said we'll be learning a lot this year and get really good at math and science, because that's what she likes. We're going to grow a plant. We have a class guinea pig named Piggy. He is red and yellow. Angie is in my class again. I am going to ignore her. Also, Katrina is in my class and we are sitting next to each other. We played hopscotch at recess even though I wanted to play haunted castle. Maybe tomorrow. Oh, well, I guess that is it. Bye.'" He looked up at Rachel and grinned. "I take it Angie and you didn't get along?"  
"As far I as I can tell, she was my own personal bully. She came up a lot in the first journal."

"Ah, poor baby." He rubbed her knee. "You know she was just jealous."

"I'm sure." She rolled her eyes and took the journal from him. "'Dear Annie, Today Nathan was transferred into my class. He was too smart for first grade and there's only one second grade. So he's with me. We played haunted castle during recess and he got Angie to leave me alone. What was really good is now we get to do our homework together.'"

"You and Nathan were in the same class?"

"Obviously. He's super smart, even more than I am. He's already working on his master's."

"You read that somewhere?"

"No." Then her eyes widened. "No. Oh my God, I remembered something." A grin split her face, lighting the whole thing up. "Are me and Nathan close or something?"

He nodded, gazing at her. Restraining himself from jumping on her. "Yeah. You talk every couple days. E-mail back and forth. I think he's your best friend. You never really talk to other people like you do him. Not about your life or anything. Mostly just work. Except him."

"That's… kind of sad?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. I guess. That's my life. And you seem happy, just, you know. Reserve. You said you were a loner." He leaned in and kissed her. "Besides. You have me."

"I do." She put a hand to his cheek and kissed him. "You're really cute."

"You're beautiful." He moved closer to her. Kissed her again, pulling her to him and laying back.

Her hair fell over her shoulders, curtaining them. He reached up and pulled it into a twist and swept it over one shoulder. Her face was flush as she gazed down at him.

"We don't have anything to do," he said. Dean reached up and cupped her face. Ran his thumb over her lips.

"What do you mean?" she asked as she turned into his hand, nuzzling.

"I mean… I can't think of the last time you and I weren't out working on something. Hunting. But we're not right now. Hunting. On a job."

"I'm the job."

"You're not a job. You're my life." He leaned up and kissed her. "My wife." Kissed her again, then lay back. "We should do something tomorrow. Go out. Have fun."

She looked unsure. "I thought I was supposed to be trying to remember."

"It's just making you crazy. Putting pressure on yourself is making you crazy. So. Let's do something fun. Go the movies or the mall. Take walk by a lake or something."

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Yeah. I think that'd be good. Fun." She bent down and kissed him. Carefully, like she wasn't sure what she was doing.

Dean watched her through his eyelashes. Watched as she kept her eyes opened. How she licked her lips when she broke the kiss, brow furrowed. Thinking. Tasting. Analyzing.

Then she leaned down again and kissed him. Differently than before. A real kiss, although still hesitant. Unsure. But growing in passion. And then…

Holy Crap.

Dean couldn't help the moan. Rachel's hands were on his neck and shoulders, stroking. Her mouth moved against his, tongue stroking, teeth nipping. And, Christ, it was good. It was almost better than before.

He broke the kiss. "Um. Uh, wow. Okay." He kissed her again. "Maybe we should, ah. Take a step back?"

Rachel's face was flush. She was breathing heavily, eyes slightly unfocused. "You're my husband."

"I'm also a stranger." Her hair had come out of the twist he'd put it in. He brushed it back from her face. "Besides, I've got plans. Our first time wasn't what you'd call romantic or anything. I figure this might be a kind of a do over. A chance to… you know. Be romantic and stuff."

"What? Having sex in my childhood bed, surrounded by My Little Ponies, and keeping quiet so my parents don't hear doesn't strike you as romantic?"

He laughed. Kissed her again. "Oddly enough, no."

Rachel nodded. Kissed him. And kept kissing him. They lay there for a long time, making out. Hands not straying anywhere but backs and arms and hair. Licking and nibbling and… fun.

They kept at it until they were both fuzzy and drunk on each other. Until Rachel was snuggled next to him, head on his shoulder. Her hair in his face, as usual. He stroked it, pushing it away and out of his mouth. Soothed her until she was asleep and he was close to following.

And as he drifted, Rachel in his arms and where she belonged, he couldn't help wonder where she'd learned to kiss like that. And, worse, who had taught her.

* * *  
Tromping into the woods with Nathan was nothing like going in with Dean. Nathan knew he stuff. Went prepared. Took a backpack, compass, map. He had hiking boots and a Swiss army knife and a bunch of stuff Sam didn't see the use of, but that Nathan had told him were basic survival needs.

"How do you know all this stuff?" Sam had asked as Nathan had checked over his gear. "Didn't you grow up in a mansion?"

Nathan had given him a look. "Scouts. Rachel and I were in them all our lives. Plus, we went camping all the time. Just because we live in a castle, doesn’t mean we don't pretend we're peasants sometimes."

Touche.

In addition to the camping gear, he packed a machete, a revolver, and a mess of other demon slaying accoutrements.

"The troll's dead, you know," Sam had said.

All he got was a look. A serious, dark-eyed, thin-mouth look.

It was frighteningly like the type of look Rachel gave Dean when she felt he was screwing around too much on the job. Sam had always been secretly glad she'd never looked at him like that. It was discomforting to be on the end now.

Luckily, once they had begun their trek to the troll's cave, Nathan had loosened up a bit. The black cloud around him faded and he loosened up. He even spoke a couple times and, once, while they were taking a break, Sam caught Nathan checking out his ass. It wasn't something Sam particularly wanted from the other man, but at least he was in a good enough mood to revert to flirty form.

Sam had done this trek before. About two weeks ago, he and Dean had followed this same path. It'd been horrible. From the moment they'd first realized Rachel had been missing, Dean had been a man possessed. No jokes, no sarcastic remarks. Nothing but dark eyes and a darker face. Driven. They'd torn through the forest at a furious pace, crashing through the bushes with a single minded intensity that had frightened Sam.

He'd always hoped that, one day, Dean would find someone that he could be happy with. He'd just never considered what would happen if Dean lost her.

At least Rachel was back now. Even if she didn't have her mind, she was still the same person. Dean would bring her back. Sam didn't need to be there. He was in their lives enough, as it was. Dean and Rachel had been married for months now, and they hadn't had a night alone since they'd officially gotten together. They deserved time to themselves.

Nathan stopped and pulled out the map. "You were here before, right?"

"Yeah." He took the water bottle Nathan offered and took a swig. "We're almost there. I think maybe another half mile or something."

He nodded and looked off into the distance. Nathan was leaning against a tree, the midmorning light shining off his sweaty face. "Do you think the lamps we brought will shed enough light?"

"Yeah, I think so. Those emergency lanterns are pretty bright. But, really, there's nothing there to see. Dean and I swept the place, and there was nothing."

"Nothing? Not evidence of the troll?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "Its bed was there. Some branches. Muddy footprints. Hair, that sort of thing."

"What about body parts from the kids it killed?"

He frowned. "Now that you mention it… no. That's weird. There should have been."

Nathan nodded. "I mean, I'd be willing to let the body parts slide. Maybe Rachel found the cave empty except for the dead kids. Decided to salt and burn the them to prevent them from haunting. But that doesn't explain why there's no troll."

"Unless she killed the troll and then was snatched."

"Maybe. But there still should have been evidence. If not a carcass, then a pyre. Ashes. Whatever. If she burned the troll, I don't know." Nathan took a drink of water, then slid the bottle back into his bag. "God. I hate not knowing."

Sam could just nod. "We'll figure it out. Even if we don't find anything here, I mean… there are other places to look."

"Other place to look," Nathan corrected, giving him a crooked smile. "And I'm not all that eager to rush to the place where my sister was…" He swallowed. "Uh. Held captive." Nathan fell silent and looked down. Rubbed the back of his neck.

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sounds of birds crying overhead.

Sam cleared his throat. "Maybe we can skip that. We know for a fact her stuff isn't there."

"Yeah, well. We'll see." He rubbed his eyes. "Besides, I'd love to get you alone in a romantic cabin."

He rolled his eyes. "Right. Well. Let's go."

"Ah, did I make you uncomfortable?" Nathan sidled next to Sam, close enough that their arms were pressed together.

He flushed. "No." He took a step away, but Nathan just followed him.

"Come on. When you were a little kid, didn't you hold hands with your best friend on the playground?" He grabbed at Sam's hand.

Sam pulled it out of his grasp. "I thought only girls did that."

"I've seen boys do it. Preschool, kindergarten. But they do."

"I didn't."

"Then now's the time." He took Sam's hand again.

This time, he sighed. "You know I'm straight."

"So was my last boyfriend. Got him to see things differently." He grinned up at Sam, eyes twinkling.

"Are you bipolar?" he couldn't help asking. The mood shift was just so abrupt.

Nathan just rolled his eyes. "Rachel's safe. I can't stay worried and upset all the time. And this distracts me." He squeezed Sam's hand and then dropped it.

The absence made his palm feel abruptly cold. He pushed the feeling away and nodded at a familiar marking on a tree. "Turn there. We're almost to the cave."

The cave was just about as Sam had remembered it. Dark, craggy, foreboding. In front of it were scraggy bushes, now torn up by the local authorities he and Dean had reluctantly called in when they realized they'd lost Rachel. Grass was tramped down, mud flung all over. Police tape hung lamely across the opening.

Nathan tore it down as he entered the dimly lit cave. Stood there a moment, eyes searching. Taking deep breaths. He looked almost as if he were meditating, searching. Something. Slow, deep breathing, head tilted back. Listening.

Sam stood at the opening, not wanting to interrupt. When he and Dean had been there, they'd never been still. Dean had rushed in, flashlight blazing, shouting Rachel's name. And when it was obvious she wasn't there, he'd fallen into a dark, angry silence. Torn around, looking for any trace of her. Tearing everything apart, looking.

But there'd been nothing.

Now he had to watch Nathan go through this. Sort of. At least Nathan knew the ending. Dean's despair had been heart wrenching to watch.

And he wasn't the only one who loved Rachel. She was Sam's family, too. His sister, not by birth, not quite legally, but sister nonetheless. Despite the demon playing with his emotions, he didn't lust after her. Wasn't in love with her. But he did love her, and he'd been terrified when she was missing.

Nathan set his backpack down. Knelt next to it.

"Stinks in here," he remarked as he unzipped his pack.

"Well. Things died. Bloodily."

"Yeah. Way negative energy." He pulled a necklace out of his shirt and gripped the charm. "This thing is buzzing like crazy. Something supernatural was here, and I'm not talking about the troll. Trolls don't give off this kind of energy."

Sam moved closer to Nathan and crouched next to him. "Is that the same kind of necklace Rachel has?"

He nodded. "Gift from our grandfather. Warns us of things that don't sit comfortably in our world."

"I set that thing off."

"Big time." He looked up at Sam. "Actually, the only difference between what I'm sensing from the charm in here and when it was just you is the magnitude."

"What do you mean?"

"You're connected to whatever was in here somehow. But, then, we knew that, right? The demon is connected with you."

He frowned. "Are you saying I have the same kind of powers as the demon?"

Nathan shrugged. "Maybe. You're not a mind reader, but you have prophetic dreams, right?"

"Sometimes."

"Rach said that some of the others that you've found, they have other powers. And that you've moved things with your mind before?"

"Just once. Under extreme duress, I might add." Sam licked his lips. "Why do I have these powers? What does the demon have to do with me?"

Nathan shook his head. "I don't know. It would really help if we knew what demon this was. Who he is. Then maybe we can figure out what he wants with you." He pulled out a flashlight. "Okay, so… bed back there?"

"Yeah."

Nathan disappeared into the darkness. Sam followed, knowing what they'd find. A bed of mud and dirt and rotting leaves. Of decaying animal fur and branches.

"Gross." Nathan kicked at a branch. It's rotted wood gave way with a wet snap. "I hate this part." He crouched by the bed. Picked up a stick and began poking through the layers of the bed.

The smell grew with each Nathan unearthed. Sam breathed through his mouth, then was forced to cover his nose with his shirt. The bed looked years old, each older and more decayed than the last. Bones, pellets, and insects spilled out as Nathan poked.

Finally, he stood. "Okay, screw this. It's disgusting. And there's nothing here."

"Thank you," Sam said, following Nathan back into the front of the cave. "That thing needs to be torched."

"We can, if you want. I'm doing a cleansing ritual before we go. It won't get rid of the smell or decay or anything, so we can do that after."

"Cleansing ritual?"

Nathan shrugged. "I don't think any souls are hanging around here. But, a lot of bad stuff was done in here. Kids died. I want to get it back into harmony, you know?"

Sam shook his head slowly, eyes narrowed. "You do spells?"

"I'm Wiccan."

"Oh." He shifted, uncomfortable. Watched as Nathan lowered himself to the floor of the cave and began slowly crawling across it, examining it closely.

He didn't have much experience with Wiccans. Witches, yeah. Some. They were always bad news, in his experience. Trying to raise demons or hex people or bring about destruction. All bad.

However. He was enlightened enough to know that Wiccans weren't necessarily evil. And Nathan didn't seem evil, like, at all. Flaky and flirty and odd, but not evil. And how bad could a cleansing spell be?

"Hey. Look." Nathan pushed some moss and leaves aside.

There was a deep crack in the stone floor. Not very long, but wide enough for Nathan to stick his hand in. And have trouble getting it out.

"It's greasy."

Sam got on the ground next to Nathan. "What do you mean?" He slid his fingers inside. Crinkled his nose. "It is. "

Nathan had his to his nose. "It smells kind of like Crisco." He lay flat on the ground. Shone his light into the crack and peered inside. "Look. Is that blood?"

"Looks like it. And on the sides, too." He felt along the dirt and Crisco coated sides of the crack. Moved his hand away and looked at the dark streaks of dried, coppery blood on the bottom and sides.

"Rachel had a sprained ankle, right?" Nathan looked up at Sam. A hank of hair fell over his pale forehead, covering his eyes.

Sam had the strange urge to bush it away. Maybe Nathan had done some kind of mojo on him. Maybe he was one of the bad witches.

"Yeah. She did." He looked down at the crack. "Could that really fit her foot?"

"If a troll forced it in? Yeah, probably. Not just her, I imagine. Any time it had an excess of food, it could hold something by trapping their leg." He sat up onto his heels. "So, she was caught by the troll. Maybe with a kid or something."

"That would make sense. She wasn't going to go after it on her own. She called us before she came out, saying she was going to do a spell that would warn people to stay away. But, if she saw the troll had another victim, she might have decided to go after it herself."

Nathan rubbed his hand over his forehead, leaving muddy streaks. "Did she have a weapon?"

"A machete and a shotgun."

He nodded. "So, she's here. Trapped. Foot stuck. And a demon comes and yanks it out using Crisco?"

"Seems a little… off," Sam said.

"A little." Nathan licked his lower lip. "But the demon was here. Its presence is all over the place." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Unless it wasn't the demon who rescued her."

"But you just said…."

"I said that the same kind of energy that you give off is resonating in here. It might not be the same demon. Same type of demon, yeah, but… you know."

"So, one demon comes in and gently gets Rachel's foot free, and the other takes her to a remote cabin and rapes her?"

Nathan blanched. Swallowed. "Um. Maybe?"

Well, fuck. That was way insensitive. Sam chalked it up to all the talk about the demon. And having similar energy as the demon.

"Sorry," he said gruffly.

"No problem." Nathan rubbed his face again, smearing more dirt across it. "Look. Let's just… keep looking. At the very least, we're going to have to find the bones and stuff of the kids and burn them. You and Dean didn't, right?"

Sam shook his head. "We were distracted."

"Not judging. Let's go."

They spent the next hour exploring every inch of the cave. Together, they swept the floor clean of debris and piled it outside. Once cleared, they both crawled on the floor again, searching for… anything. Signs, clues, anything.

They did find some things. Strands of Rachel's hair. A few barrettes and ribbons. Buttons and the ends of shoelaces. But no bones, no entrails, nothing human or fleshy. There were a few animal remains that they added to the "to burn" pile, but nothing human.

"Trolls aren't the cleanest creatures. They keep their nests pretty foul," Sam said. "So, where are the kids?"

Nathan shrugged. "Let's look outside."

There was a clearing not too far from the cave. Side by side, they tromped over the crap piled outside, over flattened grass, to the clearing. Nathan stopped once, crouching in the grass. Pushing aside some of the leaves that had settled on the mud, he revealed two sets of footprints: one pair of heavy boots, and one bare foot.

"Rachel would insist on walking even if her ankle was sprained," Nathan muttered.

"And the demon wouldn't just carry her?" Sam asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "The demon should just be able to transport her anywhere he wanted. If he's as powerful as you say, they wouldn't have even had to walk out here, right?" He rose. Wiped his hands on his jeans and continued walking to the clearing.

In the clearing was the remnants of a fire. Charred bone, salt, the whole nine yards.

Nathan looked up at Sam. "What kind of demon ensures that souls don't rise before whisking a girl off to terrorize her for two weeks?"

Sam had no answer.

* * *  
Dean rolled his eyes as Rachel drifted towards a rosebush on the side of the pathway they were on. Allowed himself to be tugged with her until her hand slipped from his. She went to the bush, eyes wide, wondering. Gazing at the myriad of red blooms until she found that something that she was always looking for and cupped one bud in her hand. Bent over it and lowered her nose to it, inhaling deeply.

Getting out of the house had been a good idea. Rachel was acting more like herself and less like a reanimated doll. They'd gone to the movies, where she'd laughed at his snarky comments and made some of her own while munching on buttery popcorn. They'd never actually gone to a movie theater together before, but they'd spent plenty of evenings watching movies on the road. It'd been nice to feel like he was on a date with her. They'd never just dated; their relationship had gone from one of denying he even wanted her to being married with no real courtship. And while he'd never really been a courtship kind of guy, it was kind of nice in its own way. Kind of… normal.

Not that he needed normal or anything. Dean wasn't a normal kind of guy. Unlike Sam, he hadn't spent his life longing for the white picket fence and college and stuff. He was more like Dad. All he wanted was to find the demon who killed Mom and, along the way, stop other things from hurting people. Normal wasn't a part of that.

Except, well, maybe it could be. A little bit. Maybe once in awhile, he and Rachel could slip away and do something that wasn't about anything but them. Little things, like the movies. Maybe when Rachel was back, he'd consider it.

Rachel took a final smell, then pulled away. "Sorry," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Dean shrugged and gave her a half smile. "I'm used to it." At her look, he elaborated by saying, "Every time we come across flowers, you have to smell them. You're always stopping and smelling the flowers."

"Oh." She smiled wryly, but Dean could see her tucking the information away with the rest of the stuff she should already know about herself. "Must get annoying."

"Naw, not really. I mean, it's not like you do it when we're chasing a baddie or something." He reached out and snapped off the rose she'd been smelling. After making sure there were no thorns, he tucked it into her hair. "It's kind of cute."

"Do I… never mind."

"What?"

She blushed, eyes downcast. "I was going to ask if I have a favorite flower, but… but, I mean, I'll just figure it out myself."

Dean nodded, then frowned. "Wait. You think I don't know, huh?"

"Well. It's a silly thing, you know? A girly thing."

"You're a girl." He leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "You like tulips. You love roses. Mostly, you just love the way they smell, but, for some reason, you don't like anything that's rose scented. Like perfume or soap or whatever. I tried to buy you lotion sometime, but it gave you a headache. Didn't tell me, of course, just kept wearing it until Sam put it together. Anyway. I think your favorite flower are those little white things that you find on the side of the road. Clovers or something. Whenever you're stressed, you go out and get them. You make necklaces out of them. Fill our motel rooms with them. You love 'em."

She was blushing. "God. Am I always so complicated?"

"Yes." He kissed her, pulling her against him. "Every moment of your life."

Rachel's arms wound around Dean's neck. One hand cupped the back of his head, fingers running through his hair. "I’m sorry."

"Don't be."

"Not about being complicated. About…"

He shut her up, kissing her again. Rachel hated making out in public, although she put up with it because Dean was always able to get his way. Right now, though, she didn't seem to mind. She just kissed him, clinging to him with a kind of desperation that Dean knew much too well. A desperation in himself he'd thought would be gone once he'd found her, but had just morphed as he had to watch her struggle to find herself again.

God, he was so helpless. There was nothing to kill or strangle or kick or burn and he needed that. Needed it, or he might do something stupid.

"Rachel Adams? Oh my God, Rachel Adams, is that you?"

Rachel pulled away from Dean at the sound of someone saying her name. "Um. Hi."

Dean turned. He placed his hand on the small of Rachel's back and looked at the tall, busty girl about Rachel's age.

The girl waved her hands around her face, which was twisted in an overly exaggerated expression of surprise. "Rachel! Rachel Adams! I can't believe it's you! I haven't seen you in forever! How are you?"

Rachel tugged at her tee shirt, then slid them down her jeans. "I'm doing fine. Thanks. How about you?"

The woman slid the huge sunglasses she was wearing into her bouncy, shiny hair. A bunch of bracelets slid down her wrist as she did, hitting the head of the little dog in the purse she was carrying. "I'm fantastic. So busy. But everything is going so well, you know? I graduated from Wellesley last spring. Parker just finished up at Harvard and started law school in the fall. I'm working as an interior designer and planning our wedding. It's next June, so save the date." She waved her hand in front of Rachel's face, showing off a huge diamond ring.

Rachel smiled politely. "Congratulations."

"Thank you! I mean, God, can you believe it? We're all getting married and having babies and everything. It's so exciting." Her eyes slid to Dean, then back at Rachel expectantly.

"Oh!" Rachel said. "Uh…"

Dean held out his hand and shook the woman's. "Dean Winchester. I'm Rachel's husband."

"Angela Stevens. It's so nice to meet you."

"Angela. As in Angie, Angela?" he asked.

"Oh God, no one calls me that anymore. It's such a juvenile nickname. Have you been telling him my name is Angie, Rachel?"

Rachel shook her head. She was blushing again. "Um, no. He found some of my old dairies."

"Whatever. You're married! Oh my God!" Angela squealed, jumping up and down. Her little dog flinched. "When did you get married? Where? Was it Martha's Vineyard? Why wasn't invited? Where was your honeymoon? We're doing Europe for ours, very posh. Shopping in Paris? Ah. I didn't see your announcement. Poo. And, Dean, who's your family? Are you Winchester like Winchester rifle Winchester? Where did you go to school? What do you do? Where are you two living? We should get together. Rachel, … where's your wedding ring, Rachel?" she finished, frowning down at Rachel's empty left like a kid who got coal on Christmas.

"Well," Rachel said uncomfortably. "Dean and I eloped. And I kind of dropped my wedding ring… in the garbage disposal the other night when I was doing dishes. Dean and I are looking for a replacement." Her last words were kind of cut off, like the way her voice got when she was near tears.

Angela gave her a long, open-mouthed look of disbelief before saying, "You were doing dishes?" She shot a look at Dean and gave him a critical once over. She then ran the same eyes over Rachel, taking in the faded jeans and comfortable tee shirt. Then she leaned closer to Rachel and whispered way too loudly, "Honey. Are you two doing, you know. Okay? What happened to your trust fund?"

Rachel cracked her jaw and gave Angela a sharp smile. "Nice seeing you, Angela. Buh-bye." She grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him away.

A heavy, dark lump had settled in Dean's stomach. The same kind of feeling he'd experienced the first time he'd seen Rachel's house. The first time he'd had to suggest she pay for a hotel room whose bedspread didn't try to crawl away each night. And the same kind of feeling every time she did or said something that reminded him just how different their childhood was and how far apart their worlds were.

"You know, I have a feeling that she's the kind of person that sent me gleefully running away from Hartford," Rachel said, her hand clenched tightly in Dean's.

"Rachel…"

"No." She stopped and looked at him. "No, Dean, really. We're not… She's not right."

"You don't know that."

"I do," she said softly, all Bambi eyes looking up at him. "I know, Dean. I know this. I never wanted that life. I was always planning to leave it, right? Go to England and whatever. After us, I… I chose you. And I don't think I regret it. I know I don't regret it." She licked her lips. "I know I love you. And I know I'm happy with our life. And, well, I know that Angie is just as much of a bitch she was in first grade."

He forced himself to smile. Because that's what she needed. "Yeah, I know. I'm good."

"I don't believe you."

Damn. Girl was too damn perceptive, even when she didn't know who she was.

He licked his lips. Shook his head. "Rachel, the past two weeks, I've been through hell. I was against this from the start. You and me. 'Cause I knew it could, you know, be something. And that it could be dangerous. But I gave in because, well, I was weak and I wanted you. And, you know." He swallowed. "It's been okay. You know? The world hasn't ended. Except, then you disappeared and I didn't know what happened. And it was all my fault."

"It was not your fault. Hunting's a dangerous life. And one I've chosen for myself. I mean, I was going to England to do the same thing, right? Same thing could have happened there."

"Except it's that damn demon who took you. The demon that's after my family. Had you not been involved with me, you never would have been on its radar."

Rachel frowned. "Have we had this fight before?"

He ducked his head. Shrugged. "Maybe once or twice."

She nodded. "

"Yes."

"That, even if I leave you, and we go our separate ways so I'm safe, that there's still always a chance the demon will come after me anyway. So, there's no real reason for us to separate, 'cause the die is cast."

He closed his eyes. "Yes."

"All right," she chirped brightly. "Then we are not going to have the fight again right now."

Dean licked his lips. Opened his eyes again. "Okay. I wasn't planning on leaving you right now, anyway. Not while you don't know who you are." He glanced back in the direction they'd walked. "But, your friends…"

"Oh my God, if she was actually ever one of my friends, then I don't want my memory back! She's…. she's like a Barbie doll. On steroids. On crack. Did that see that dog? She's the kind of person who thinks dogs and children are accessories. I'm that. I don't want to be that, and I don't want to have that." She took his hand. "I want you."

"You don't know me."

"No. But I did. And I chose you. And I still do, because I know I belong with you." Rachel rose to her toes and kissed Dean lightly on the lips. "I think it's fairly obvious that my parents don't buy into the whole upper class social debutant shtick. They don't have a problem with me tromping around the country with a man I'm only legally married to as long as no one looks at the paperwork closely enough. I'm happy. And that's what matters."

Despite himself, something in him relaxed. He plucked the flower from Rachel's hair and ran it down her face. Tapped her on the nose with it. "I guess so. And, really, there ain't no way I'm letting you out of my sight ever again."

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "That'll be fun."

He wrapped his arms around her and pinched her bottom. "Yeah," he said, lowering his mouth to hers. "It will be."

* * *  
Sam collapsed on the motel bed, feeling about a hundred years old. Nathan had claimed first shower and disappeared while Sam was still trying to figure out when they hell they'd agreed to share a room in the first place. He'd been there that morning when Nathan had checked out from his motel, but somehow he'd missed the agreement that they'd share.

The little twit better cough up his half. Bad enough the motel had been out of single rooms so Sam had needed to get one with two beds. Now he had a guest who kept trying to feel him up. Money better be part of the deal.

And, oh, crap, that wasn’t what he meant at all.

He sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Dean answered on the first ring. "Dude. Talk to me."

A laugh bubbled out of Sam's throat. "You sound desperate."

"Yeah, you think?"

"How's Rachel?"

Dean sighed. "Fine. I guess."

"Remembering anything?"

"Some. Stuff about her childhood. She's sounding more like herself. Less spacey. Well, you know what I mean."

He snorted. "Yeah, I know. Her brother's the same way. One minute, we're talking about trolls, the next thing, he's going off on the political structure in Bavaria."

"I never thought I'd miss her tangents about the history of clowns or the Dewey Decimal system or whatever."

He nodded. Traced his fingers over the pattern on the bedspread. Bit back a sigh and the frustration clearly welling in his brother's voice. "We'll get her back, Dean."

There was silence across the line.

This time he did sigh. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "So, we didn't find much at the cave. Well, we're pretty sure that Rachel got caught by the troll and was being held for a snack or something."

"Oh, that's pleasant. I can't wait to tell her that. How'd she escape?"

"Someone with about a size ten shoe got her out."

"What?"

"We found footprints. One set of male boot prints and then her bare foot. By a pyre where they burned the bodies of the kids that were killed."

Silence. Then, "Can you explain that one?"

He shook his head. "No. Well, the only thing Nathan and I can figure is maybe someone found Rachel stuck in the cave. And she insisted on burning the bodies."

"So she convinced some random hiker that it was okay to burn some dead kids? I mean, come on Sam, Rachel can be persuasive, but most men find a girl stuck in the woods, they're either gonna get her the hell out or…"

"She was fine, Dean. I mean, I'm sure she was fine. They burned bodies. And she can talk up a storm when she wants. And, who knows. Maybe there was a hunter in the area."

"Then where is he now?"

"Well, that's the thing. Maybe whoever helped her got possessed and then took her to the cabin." He rubbed his forehead. "We can't find any of her things. We were thinking of going to the cabin tomorrow, see if we can maybe trace the way they got there. Find anything."

"Bobby and Ellen went after Rachel was released from the hospital. They couldn't find anything. Even the clothes in the closet weren't hers, even though they were all her size. And no evidence of a man, hunter or no."

Sam shrugged. "Nathan wants to see it."

He heard Dean let out an angry sigh. "You know, Nathan should spend his time doing something more productive, like talking to his sister. She's asked about him. She's been reading her old diaries, and he comes up a lot." There was a beat of silence, like Dean had just thought of something. "Her diary."

"What about it?"

"I just… it's probably with her stuff." He sounded defeated again. "I wonder if she had it with her. And what it says."

"We'll keep an eye out for it."

"She never leaves that thing. She carries it in her purse. Which is also missing." Another angry sigh. "Think I should buy her a new one?"

"Purse?"

"Diary, dumbass."

He grinned. Shrugged. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the gesture." Of course, she'd probably also like a new wedding ring, but Sam didn't say that. And, really, knowing Rachel, she'd rather get the diary. At least at first. "So," he asked after a moment. "What's going on there?"

A strangled moan. "Her grandfather showed up."

"They psychic one?"

"Yup. He wants to root around in her head a little, see what he kind find. Hypnotize her or some shit."

"I take it you don't like the idea?" He lay back on the bed.

"I don't know. Seems a little fishy to me. I mean, her mind's been mucked up enough. Now someone's going to go inside it? And, what? Make her cluck like a chicken?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he has some better ideas than party tricks, Dean. Besides, he's been doing this a long time. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

The bathroom door opened. Steam billowed into the room, a half-naked Nathan emerging from it. A towel was wrapped around his waist, water beading over his chest, hair sticking up in all directions. Sam watched as Nathan went to his duffle and began rooting for clothing.

"Yeah," Dean was saying, "I know. I just don't like it. But that's pretty much my catch phrase these days. And, her grandfather doesn't really like me that much."

"Well, someone in her family was bound to dislike you. I mean, let's face it, Dean. She's… well, a sheltered Yale graduate and you're… a Winchester."

"Nothing wrong with being a Winchester." He said it halfheartedly, though, which Sam knew he would. He knew his brother, and knew that Dean had had these thoughts a zillion times.

Not that Sam necessarily agreed with them, but he knew the impulse. He'd had them himself, when he'd met Jess's parents. And when they'd met Rachel's for the first time. He kept waiting for one of the Adamses to say something against Dean and Rachel's relationship, and yet… "Her parents are freakishly accepting."

"They have to put up with me," Nathan said. He somehow shimmied into his boxers while keeping the towel on, then immediately allowed it to drop. "Plus, Dad's younger brother was disowned by his parents for falling for this guy, and then he got killed on a hunt, so Dad always says that all he wants is for us to be happy."

"That Nathan?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"Put me on speaker."

Sam pressed the speaker button and tossed it onto the bed.

"Call your sister, douche bag."

Sam rolled his eyes.

Nathan draped himself on the bed next to Sam. Feet at Sam's head, face near the phone. He propped his chin on his fists and rolled his eyes at the phone. "Is she okay?"

"She's been better. She'd be better if her brother would talk to her."

He sighed. "I know. I'm just… not ready yet."

"You're an asshole."

Nathan lowered his face to the comforter. Nodded. Voice muffled, he whispered, "I know."

Silence.

Finally, Sam sat up. "Okay, well, Dean, we need to get dinner. Call us tomorrow after her grandfather does whatever he's going to do?"

"Yeah, I will."

"Give a hug from me."

A snort. "You are such a girl." The line went dead.

Sam reached over and flipped the phone shut. Lay back on the bed. For a long time, he and Nathan just lay there like that, listening to each other breath and thinking their own thoughts.

Not that Sam knew what to think. None of this made any sense. He and Nathan had looked for missing persons reports for the town and the surrounding towns going back a month. But there'd been nothing. So, either whomever had gotten Rachel out of the cave hadn't been declared missing, didn't come from around here, or…

Or what? What were they missing?

Nathan sighed and turned his head. "Wanna fool around?"

"What?"

"To take our minds off this." He crawled around until his head was facing the same way as Sam's. Scooted up next to him, then, very suddenly, jumped on top of Sam. "Come on." He brought their faces so close together, Sam could practically count every little black fleck inside the chocolate brown of his eyes. "It'd give us something to do."

His heart pounded and it was suddenly a million degrees in the room. Feeling awkward, he put his hands on Nathan's still damp shoulders, pushing, feeling his warmth. Smelling the clean, fresh scent of his soap and shampoo and…

"I'm not gay."

Nathan rolled his eyes and climbed off Sam. "Neither am I."

"I'm not bi."

He glanced down at Sam's crotch, then back up. "You sure about that?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "You were wiggling on top of me. It's just the body's response to…"

"Uh-huh. You keep blushing around me."

"You keep embarrassing me."

And then Nathan was back in his face. This time, his mouth hovered inches away from Sam's own. Warm, minty breath brushed over Sam's face and… and a current sort of hung between them.

And Sam couldn't breathe. His heart stuttered in his chest and he couldn't look away from Nathan's long, dark lashes, lowered over his eyes as they slowly swept over Sam's body.

And then they were locked on Sam's eyes. "I know hunters can be kind of conservative and stuff, but the ones I've meant have also had a kind of… carpe diem sort of attitude towards life. Maybe you should try it some time."

"Maybe I don't want to turn into a… a person in every port type of guy." He sounded breathless even to his own ears.

Nathan's eyebrow quirked. "Not saying you should. Just, maybe, step outside your comfort zone sometime. Try a new way of thinking. You're the rebel in the family. Rebel a little."

And he lowered his mouth closer, so Sam couldn't help but close his eyes, every muscle tensed, waiting…

"Maybe you're not bi," Nathan whispered against his mouth, their lips just ghosting against each other. "Or maybe you're just too afraid to open yourself because of what you've lost instead of thinking about what you might find."

There was just the slightest hint of pressure against Sam's mouth, and then…

The bed shifted. Lightened.

Sam lay there, heart still thudding, muscles still tensed. Still waiting for… for something.

"I'm gonna order a pizza." Nathan's voice came from across the room. "Any toppings you want?"

He cleared his throat. Forced his eyes open. "Um. Don't care. Whatever." His voice cracked on the last syllable.

Nathan flashed him a smile. "Hope you didn't have your heart set on pineapple. It doesn't belong on pizza."

"Yeah. I know. I live with Rachel. I've heard the fifteen minute lecture. Multiple times." Still feeling shaky and off balanced, Sam slid himself off the bed. He managed to make it to the bathroom before he collapsed against the door.

"Oh," he swore, exhaling hard. " _Fuck_."

* * *

This was a good thing, Dean reminded himself. Good. Rachel's grandfather was a professional, or whatever. Okay, maybe professional wasn't the word, but he knew what he was doing. Probably. According to Rachel's parents.

"My father is an excellent psychic and hypnotist," Maria, Rachel's mom, had assured Dean over and over. "He uses it all the time in his practice, and he's always had great success in helping his patients."

The fact Mr. Carmichael, Rachel's grandfather, was a shrink didn't endear him to Dean much, but he wasn't going to say that. Obviously, Maria bought all that Freud-shit; he wasn't going to start spouting against it or anything.

Besides, he didn't have a say in this. So, here they were, in Rachel's bedroom. Him, her parents, and her grandfather. All gathered around the bed like Rachel was about to perform something, and her dressed in her PJs, hair braided back, looking nervous.

Dean didn't blame her. Her grandfather was a stranger, after all. Okay, she'd told Dean that he seemed familiar somehow, too, but still a stranger. And he was about to put her into some kind of hypnotic trance and muck around in her mind somehow.

Dean would be nervous, too. If it was his mind. But it wasn't, so he wasn't nervous. Not at all. Not one bit.

"Comfortable, Rachel?" her grandfather—You call me Mr. Carmichael, young man—asked.

Rachel gave a nervous smile that Dean was very familiar with. Nodded and smoothed her hands down the comforter of her bed. "Yeah. I'm fine." She looked at Dean, blinking, face pale as she sought reassurance.

Dean sat on the bed next to her. Took her hand. "Look, babe. You don't have do this if you don't want to. There's got to be other ways to get your memory back."

"I've already explained to you, young man, that this is perfectly safe. There's no reason…"

"I'm sure that all this mumbo-jumbo bullshit is safe, but it's her mind, and I'm not sure she should be bullied into letting someone traipse around it," he retorted. "She's already had it messed up enough."

Mr. Carmichael pulled his glasses off. Narrowed his eyes at Dean. "Hypnosis is isn't mucking around in someone's mind, you ignorant fool."

"I…"

"Hey!" Rachel rose to her knees, putting herself between Dean and her grandfather. "Grandpa, don't talk to my husband that way."

"He's not your husband, Rachel. He's someone who's taking advantage of you and your money. If he was really serious about marrying you…"

"Hey, I'll marry her right now." Dean grabbed Rachel's hand and tugged her. "Come on. We can go to Vegas and seal the deal right now."

"Rachel is the daughter of an Adams and a Carmichael. My family came over on the Mayflower. The Adams fought in the Revolution. People like us do not elope in a twenty-four hour drive through chapel."

"Don't worry." Dean wrapped his arm around Rachel's waist. Hauled her off the bed and towards the door. "Nothing but the best for your precious princess. I was thinking the King could marry us."

His hand raised and he crossed the room menacingly. "You insolent little…"

"That's enough, Dad!" Maria snapped, grabbing her father's arm.

"Rachel has made her choice, and we respect it," Dr. Adams added from the foot of the bed. "Dean Winchester is a good man. And a good husband to Rachel. And no matter what the legal status is, they are married and committed, and you're just going to have to accept that."

"Even if he is acting like a Neanderthal right now," Rachel said. She'd grabbed the door frame as Dean had tried to pull her out of the room. Now, she wiggled from his grasp and turned to glare at him. "Play nice."

"I'm not the one who started it."

"You totally were!"

He thought back. Shrugged. Maybe she was right. But, still. "I don't like this."

"It's hypnosis, Dean. He'll just get me really relaxed. I'm still in control the entire time. Just relaxed and able to face things I might not be able to face when I'm awake. And he's my grandfather. He won't make me do or face anything I'm not ready for."

"You keep saying that, but…"

She touched his cheek, which made him shut up right away.

"I'll be fine. You'll be there the whole time, watching out for me." She flattened her hand against his cheek. Leaned in close, eyes fluttering close. "I'll be fine," she repeated in a whisper.

Dean slipped an arm around her waist. Kissed her on the forehead, then leaned against her. "Okay. Okay." He kissed her again, then pulled away. "Then let's do this thing."

Rachel gave him a small, nervous smile. Then turned and went back to the bed.

"All right, Rachel," Mr. Carmichael said as Rachel settled back down on the bed. "Now I want you to close your eyes." He adjusted his glasses, glaring at Dean over them as Dean climbed on the bed and sat next to Rachel. "Take a deep breath," he continued. "In, one, two, three, four. Hold. And out, two, three, four, five, six."

Rachel's lips pursed as she exhaled. Dean could see her pulse in the blue vein on her neck. Watched as her eyes tense and relaxed, fluttering her eyelashes very slightly.

"You're in a safe place," Mr. Carmichael said, voice soft and soothing. "Comfortable. Warm. You are becoming relaxed. Sliding down in a deep pool of relaxation. Now, I want you to picture a door. Any kind of door. Maybe it's made of wood. Maybe it's blue or green. Can you see the door?"

She nodded.

"Picture the doorknob. Gold and metal against the wood. I want you to reach out and take the knob in your hand. Twist it. Open the door. Behind the door is a stairway. The stairs are leading down. There are ten of them. You're going to go down the stairs. By the time you reach the bottom, you'll be completely relaxed."

Rachel licked her lips. Took another deep breath.

"Step onto the first step. I want you to feel your toes. Feel how warm they are. Feel them tingle as they relax. That tingling moves up your feet, feel that? Your feet are growing warm. Soft." He reached out and put his fingers on the inside of Rachel's wrist. "As the warmth reaches your ankles, you step down onto the second step."

Dean kept his eyes on Rachel's face as her grandfather walked her down the imaginary stairs. A couple of times, he had to shake his head, fight off a growing sleepiness. The dude's voice was calming. He really was good at this shit.

It seemed like hours before Mr. Carmichael finally said, "As you step off the last stair, a feeling of absolute peace washes over you. Right here, you're safe. You're completely relaxed. Nothing can hurt you, nothing can touch you. If at any time you start feeling anxious, you can come back here and be safe. If at any point you get scared or uncomfortable, either you or I can say relax, and, immediately, you'll be back in this room. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good. Now, Rachel. I want you to think back. Before you came to the room. Before you and Dean came to Hartford, before the hospital. Think back. What's the first thing you remember?

"I woke up."

"Where did you wake up?"

"A room. I don't recognize it."

"What does it look like?"

Her brow tightened. "Rustic. Wood walls. Wooden four post bed. Dresser with a mirror. Closet, doors closed. A night table. The comforter is thick and flannel and comfortable."

"How do you feel?"

"Ashy. Sore. Hurt." Her voice caught. Trembled. "Scared. I don't know where I am. Who I am."

"But you do know. You know who you are."

She licked her lips. "I'm Rachel. Rachel Adams. Winchester."

"Yes. Rachel. Now, I want you to go further back. As far back as you possibly can. Back, down a long, dark, deep tunnel. All the way back to when you were a little girl. Small and young and always, always safe." He reached out and put his fingers on her wrist. Feeling her pulse. "Can you go back for me, Rach?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Concentrate. You're a little girl. What do you see?"

Her brow creased and mouth puckered. "Nathan."

"Can you tell me more?"

"I'm at the hospital. Daddy's carrying me. He's excited, bouncing me. I stayed with you and Grandma. She let me eat ice cream at breakfast. And now, Daddy and I are in Mommy's room and she's holding Nathan. He's so small, but he looks at me. And he knows me."

"Good. Good, Rachel. Now, I want you step away from Nathan. Go back into the hall of the hospital. Are you there?"

"Yes."

"There are a lot of doors in this hall. I want you to open another one and see what's inside."

Rachel's eyes tightened.

"Are you at the door?"

"Yes."

"What do you see?"

"Dean. At a bed and breakfast." A blush colored her cheeks. "The first time we met. I was investigating a ghost murder, and he and his brother crashed. They helped me."

"All right." He shot a sour look at Dean, then turned his attention back to Rachel. "Back away from the scene. Go back into the hall of doors. Are you there?"

"Yes."

"Go to the next door. Open it. What do you see?"

Her eyes tightened. "Christmas morning. I got a doll and a toy piano. I'm in blue pajamas. My favorite. And a Santa cap. I thought I heard Santa the night before."

And on and on. Memories from her childhood. Memories from college and her life with Dean and Sam.

They all came pouring out of her. Her grandfather walked her from one door to the next and on and on. For what seemed like hours. Rachel talked and remembered and Dean listened, getting to know things Rachel had never told him. Things they done together, ways she thought about it.

It almost made him uncomfortable. Not, like, she was sharing anything embarrassing in front of her family; her grandfather made sure to lead her away from anything like that. Just… some of this stuff was Rachel's private thoughts. Dean didn't even read her journal. He wouldn't want Rachel prying into his mind. He wasn't sure what he was allowed to know and what she wanted to keep private.

But, they had to get her memory back. And, besides. He'd seen her drunk and in a heated argument with some guy in a bar about how Attack of the Clones was the best Star Wars movie ever. Considering how mortified she'd been the next day (and weeks after, since he and Sam hadn't let her forget and would randomly quote her), he was sure she'd survive him hearing all this.

And, anyway. It's what needed to be done, right?

* * *

Rachel was floating, more comfortable than she could ever remember being. Of course, the past few days were mostly what she could remember, and those days hadn't been relaxing. But, even as her world expanded, as her grandfather walked her through her mind and her past, there was no memory that had this level of comfort. Total and utter abandonment.

Being hypnotized was strange. She felt like she was drifting. Unconnected to her body, out of control. But, at the same time, she wasn't. She could feel her bed under her. Feel Dean holding her hand. Smell her grandfather's cologne and her mom's perfume. She knew if she got scared, she could stop what they were doing, but she felt so comfortable, she didn't need to.

"Rachel," her grandfather said. "You're doing very well. I think you've made good progress. But, right now, I want you to relax and return to the room at the bottom of the stairs."

She'd been at her fifteenth birthday party—ice skating with a friend from school—but the memory melted away. She found herself back in the dark, featureless room. A door in front of her, the stairs behind her. Nothing, but in a comforting way.

"When you open the door, you'll be back in the cabin. This time, though, you won't feel scared or sore or ashy. You will still feel calm and relaxed."

"All right."

"Open the door and step back into the cabin."

She did as he asked. The cabin formed around her. She was in the bedroom, although this time, the bed wasn't made. The sheets and blankets were askew. There were clothes scattered around the room, on the floor, on the dresser. A bra thrown over a lamp. Men's clothes, too: jeans, flannel shirt, tee shirt. Boxers.

"It's different," she said.

"How is it different?"

She moved further into the room. Went to the bed and touched it. "The bed's messed up. Clothes…" She stopped talking. Picked up a dress that was on the floor. "This isn't mine."

"What?"

"The dress. Red. Like sundress. Cute. It has little dots and stuff. I'd never pick this out for myself."

"You should. Bet you'd look hot." Dean.

Standing in the room in her mind, holding the dress Rachel rolled her eyes and smiled. "Right. This isn't mine, though."

"Did you wear it?" her grandfather asked, an edge to his voice.

The edge wasn't directed at her. She knew that even in this state. It was at Dean, but she didn't mind. Dean's comment, that was. She liked the idea that he found her attractive. Even having remembered things about them, about their lives together, she still couldn't quite believe that Dean Winchester, beautiful, gorgeous, sexy, sexual man, found her, geeky Rachel Adams, historian wanna-be, attractive.

She held the dress against her. "It's my size."

"Try to remember. Go back. Did you ever wear it?"

"Rachel?" someone called from the another room in the cabin.

She turned. The dress was on her suddenly. Her hair was wet, tangled down her back. Feet were bare.

"Rach?" The voice again. Concerned.

"Yeah?" she found herself calling back. She went to the dresser and grabbed a comb. Then, she exited the room.

Bacon was frying in the kitchen. It mingled with the smell of eggs. Pancakes. Coffee.

"You want cream for your coffee?" the man asked.

"Yeah. I take my coffee pretty much white." She was combing her hair, working out the tangles, as she approached the kitchen.

"Must drive Dean crazy."

"Naw, we're still at the stage where he thinks anything I do is adorably cute. Such as the fact I drink girly coffee. Anyway, lots of cream, lots of sugar." She was at the door. She leaned against the door jamb.

The man in the kitchen turned around.

Everything went completely black.

* * *

"Rachel. Rachel, open your eyes. It's time to wake up. You need to open your eyes."

"I told you this was gonna happen. To told you this was a mistake!"

"Dean, calm down."

"Your father-in-law just killed Rachel, and you want me to relax?"

"'m not dead," Rachel croaked. Her throat hurt and her eyes felt heavy. Everything was heavy and hurting and painful.

"Rachel?"

The world shifted. Rocked.

She was pulled up in someone's arms. Held against a strong, familiar body. "Rach? You there?"

"Yeah." She licked her dry lips with her sticky tongue. Tried to force her eyes open. "Thirsty."

"Get her water."

"Do not tell me…"

"Just get water!"

"I'm getting it, Dean. Dad. Stop fighting."

"What happened?" She struggled to open her eyes. There wasn't much light in the room, but it hurt her eyes anyway. She squinted, eyes watering.

Dean was holding her. He wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. "You gave us a scare, babe. One second, you were fine, the next, you just stopped breathing."

"I stopped breathing?"

"For a moment," he grandfather said. "You started up again on your own, but you've been lost for about fifteen minutes."

"Lost?"

Her grandfather gave her a half smile. "You weren't responding to anything. No commands or suggestions. Nothing."

She looked at Dean.

"Not even a kiss. You're no Sleeping Beauty." He said it with a crooked smile that didn’t erase the worry from his face.

"I drool in my sleep. So, I know I'm not Sleeping Beauty."

Dean bent over her. Kissed her. "So," he whispered against her mouth. "Did it work? You remember… anything?"

Her mother sat on the bed next to her. Handed her a glass of water. "How do you feel, honey?"

She drained the glass in a few gulps. Licked her lips, feeling slightly better than before. Rubbed her eyes and leaned against Dean. "I'm okay. I guess." She sighed. Yawned.

"What do you remember?" Dean asked again.

Rachel frowned. Furrowed her brow as she though. "I, um. I don't know. I mean, I know who I am. I know, not like before." She reached up and put her hand on Dean's cheek. "I remember you. Us." She arched up and kissed the underside of his jaw.

"What about from when you were missing?"

She sighed. "Well. Uh." Her back ached, so she shifted and settled herself more comfortably against Dean. "Um. I remember looking for the troll. I was, um. Going to put a spell around the cave. Ward it off until Dean and Sam could get there. Help me kill it." She glanced at her grandfather, then down at her hand in Dean's. "There was a kid out in woods. Lost. I went to help him, and then something hit me on the head. Knocked me out." She looked up. "That's all I remember until I woke up in the cabin."

There was silence. Rachel watched as her parents exchanged glances, as her grandfather nodded. Rubbing his chin. They looked like they didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Rachel didn't know what to feel, either. For the first time in days, she felt like herself. She knew who she was. She knew who Dean was, and not just in an abstract way. Not just because he was an itch in the back of her mind, someone she knew she should know but couldn't place. Now she knew.

She just didn't know what had happened to her. Beyond what the doctors had told her. Beyond what the soreness and the pain and had let her know.

"Well," Dean said finally, breaking the silence. "It's good to have you back."

"It's good to be back," Rachel said, giving him a tentative smile.

And then, quite unexpectedly, she started to cry.

* * *

"On a long and lonesome highway, East of Omaha, You can listen to the engine, Moanin' out his one note song. You can think about the woman, Or the girl you knew the night before, But your thoughts will soon be wandering," an overly earnest kid warbled into a microphone.

Dean sighed and picked up his beer. This sucked. All of it. Well. The beer wasn't bad, but that was about the only thing that didn't completely suck. He was stuck in Hartford, Rachel was traumatized, her grandfather hated him, and the only bar within walking distance was holding its weekly karaoke night with people signing up for the privilege to butcher sappy songs. He knew he should have brought the Impala. Screw flying. He couldn't believe he'd let his brother take his baby.

Rachel had him all screwed up. Twisted around and worried. He couldn't think like this. Bad enough before when it was just Sam he had to worry about. Now he had Rachel, too, and everything was…

Complicated.

After Rachel had finally stopped crying and calmed down, her damn grandfather had decided he wanted to check what was going on in her head. Again. Like, specifically during that two week period she'd been missing. And when Dean had objected, he'd been sent from the room.

Fuck 'em. He didn't need them anyway. Well. Rachel, he kind of needed. Well. Wanted. Liked. Loved, whatever. But the rest could jump off a cliff for all he cared.

"So. You ready for another one?" the waitress asked, giving him a big, shiny smile. Her hair fell over her shoulders, brushing the tops of her bare shoulders. She wore a necklace that dangled between the cleavage of her breasts, drawing his eyes.

He shrugged, raising his beer to his mouth, eyes on her necklace. "Sure. Keep 'em coming."

"Hard day?"

"You could say that." Dean snorted and drained the rest of his beer.

"You know, I get off work in an hour. If you want, we could go somewhere." She leaned on the table and batted her eyelashes at him. "I'm a good listener."

Once upon time. But all he said was, "Thanks, but I'm gonna pass. Just… get some fries, okay?"

She sighed and straightened up. "Yeah, sure. Be right up."

He watched her go, then closed his eyes with a sigh. Leaned his head against the wooden seat back. Banged a few times. "This is bullshit."

"You know what's bullshit is that my husband took off without telling anyone where he was going," Rachel said. "That's all kinds of bullshit. Budge over."

Dean opened his eyes in time to see Rachel, never one to do things like a normal person, crawl over him so she could sit next to the wall in the booth. Then she turned and draped her legs across Dean's.

"How'd you find me?" he asked, putting his hands on her legs. She was wearing jeans; he scratched his nails over the material gently.

"Only bar within walking distance. It wasn't that hard to figure out." Her hair was out of its braid, and she was twisting a lock of hair around her finger. "You didn't even leave a note."

"I don't leave notes."

"You could have said something. Or, like, texted me."

Dean looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Phones are for calling people, not e-mail."

"It's not e-mail. It's… okay, okay. Got it. No texting."

"Anyway, you found me. So what was the point?"

"I don't know. Between me disappearing and then forgetting everything, maybe it kind of scared me when I couldn't find you." She tugged her hair again, eyes turned away from him.

Well. Crap.

"Wasn't thinking." He caressed her jaw, gently turning her head to look at him. "It was like I couldn't breathe in there. I was worried about you. You grandfather was being an ass and wouldn't let me in the room. I just needed air. And not in the girly, weird way you always do, where you go for a jog or whatever. I couldn't breathe."

Rachel was about to say something when the waitress came back with Dean's beer and fries.

"Here you go. Oh, hey Rachel."

"Tiffany. How you doing?"

Tiffany shrugged. "Eh. I'm still working here. Still going to school. So, you know. Okay. Can't complain."

"Are you still with that guy? Brad?"

"No, we broke up a few months ago. You with this guy?" She nodded at Dean.

"Yeah, this is my husband, Dean."

"Oh, wow. I didn't realize you got married. I didn't hear anything about it."

Rachel shook her head, blushing. "It was really fast. We sorta met and we were traveling. We just sort of… eloped, I guess."

"Wow. That's really… spontaneous for you. No offence. Just, you know. You were the one who always had everything planned out."

"Yeah, I know. But…" She trailed off and shrugged.

Tiffany gave her a knowing smile before turning her gaze to Dean. "And you never mentioned you had a wife."

He rolled his eyes and held up his left hand. "One, I'm wearing a ring. Two, I turned you down, so I didn't see the point."

"Yeah, but I thought it was me. Now I know it's because you're taken." She glanced a Rachel, blushing suddenly. "I'm sorry. I don't know…"

Rachel waved her hand. "Don't worry. I'm used to it. He's gorgeous, isn't he?" She beamed.

"He is. You hungry, Rach?"

"I'll just have a Coke."

"Coming right up." Tiffany gave them a bright smile and left.

Rachel leaned her head against the wall. "So, I can't remember anything, and you're there. One percent, completely supportive. I get my memory back, and you freak and take off. That seems kind of backwards."

"I guess." He picked up his beer. Rolled it in his hands a couple times before taking a drink. "I felt I couldn't leave you before. Not like that. But after, I just… I needed space."

"Oh. Do you still need it?" she asked, sounding concerned, not hurt. Understanding. "I can go. I just wanted to…"

He tightened his hold on her legs. "Don't go."

Rachel settled back down. Put her hand on top of Dean's. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I didn’t know what to think. What to do. Two weeks, all I could do was yell at myself so being such an ass. I never should have let you this close. I put you in danger." He turned his hand under hers. Gripped it hard. "If anything had happened to you… If you'd be killed…"

"I wasn't."

"I know, but…"

"Dean." She squeezed his hand. "I wasn't. What happened was hard enough. Okay? Just… don't."

Dean nodded and opened his eyes. Looked at her. "I'm sorry I didn't protect you."

Her smile was crooked. Her eyes were watery and red. "I forgive you. I just want you to forgive yourself. And realize you can't protect me from everything."

"I wish I could."

"Same here." She fell silent as Tiffany came back with her Coke. Once the waitress was gone, she sighed. "So. Grandpa says that there's some kind of… traps set around the memories of the past two weeks. That he triggered one when we tried to get at it. He doesn't think there's any way to force the memory back. I just have to wait and… and hope."

"So you'll never remember."

"I think I will. I've been getting flashes on my own." She looked troubled. "There's just not a way to go in like through hypnosis or anything. Just time."

"I can live with that. I just wanted you to remember who you were. Be yourself again."

Rachel looked up at him with a watery smile. "I am. I think. But, um. Dean. I've remembered some things. I just don't know what I'm remembering. Not completely."

Shit, he so didn’t want to hear this. This was way too much, and…

"I think I cheated on you."

"Oh, thank God," he breathed. His eyes fell shut and head banged against booth.

"What?" Rachel smacked him on the arm. "Dean, I'm serious. I keep having this images of me and this man who isn't you. And we're laughing and enjoying being together or something. And I think I cheated on you. And you're saying, 'thank God?'"

"I thought you were going to tell me, like, horrible things that happened to you. And I really don't think I can deal with hearing you talk about being hurt or whatever. Not right now. Not here." He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. "Rach. You'd never cheat on me."

"You don't know that." There were big tears in her eyes now. Her nose had turned red and her chin was trembling. "You don't know. What if… what if I met someone while I was hunting the troll? What if I was leaving you or something and the demon found me and possessed whoever I was with, then wiped my memory? What if this was all my fault?" A tear fell.

Dean wiped it away with his thumb. "Babe, I know you. You wouldn't cheat. Not on me or anyone. It's just not in you."

"I could cheat."

"How many men in this room, right now, besides me, would like to fuck you?"

Rachel blushed and looked away. Her hair fell over her face, veiling it. Then, she pushed back her hair and looked up. Scanned around the room, her cheeks turning darker. "Um, I don't know. That guy in the corner? And maybe the one standing by the karaoke machine."

Dean smiled and laughed gently. "There are, like, ten guys who have been checking out since you got here. You never notice, Rachel. You're this beautiful woman, and you don't notice. And, when someone makes their interest clear enough for you to get it, you question it. You get embarrassed."

"So?"

"So. We talked the morning you disappeared. You hadn't met anyone. And it'd take a lot more than meeting someone to get you to run away." He picked up her hand and kissed the palm. "I don't really have a problem learning that at some point during you being away, you enjoyed yourself. You weren't scared and hurting. I don't know if it's because you trusted whoever you were with, or the demon did some spell on you, or you were possessed, or what. But I don't care. All I care is you're back and you're okay." He kissed the inside of her wrist.

She kind of crumpled against him. Her forehead pressed against Dean's neck. Fingers played at his neckline. "I don't know what happened," she whispered. "I want to know what happened. If what happened to me was so horrible, why are the few flashes I've had comfortable? Pleasurable, even. But, when I woke up, everything hurt and I was sore. It wasn't…" She stopped. Pressed her head harder against Dean.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, holding her tight.

"I don't know." She sniffed. "I think… I think I want to go back to the cabin where they found me. I need to see again. Now. See if I remember anything. Or at least, I don't know. At least put it behind me or something."

Somehow, he'd figured she was going to say that. Been dreading it, the inevitable. Returning to the scene of the crime. It's what they did. How they met, really. Course, back then, it hadn't been so personal. Hadn't been where one of them had been hurt.

He lifted Rachel's head from his shoulder. Kissed her, tasting her, breathing her in. Because this was his girl, back in his arms. Feeling like she did before, acting like she did. Still kissing a little different, but he wasn't going to complain, because that noise she just made in the back of her throat? That was his Rachel.

"Sam and your brother were heading there. We could leave tonight and probably catch them."

Her eyes narrowed. "I thought you said that Sam was hunting."

Oh, right. "Yeah, he was hunting your brother. Nathan got it into his head to try and retrace you last few steps. We didn't think it was such a hot idea. One Adams had already disappeared, so Sam went after him."

"And he found him?"

"Yeah."

"And Nathan's okay?" Her voice cracked on the last word.

"Yeah, he's fine," Dean assured her, wiping away another tear.

"Then why hasn't he called me?"

That, he had no answer for. "We've been telling him to. Don't know why he's not. You can tear him a new one when catch up to him."

Rachel smiled wryly. "Yeah." She sighed. Pushed her hair back from her face. "You know, I don't have any clothes. The bastard took all my clothes. I haven't worn this since my first year of college."

Dean looked at the pink tank-top and jeans she was wearing. "Looks good on you."

She rolled her eyes. "At some point, we have to shop. Or I do. Whatever. I need clothes."

He leaned in and kissed her neck. "I disagree."

She shivered, eyes falling shut. She licked her lips and leaned closer to him. "If we're really going to leave, we should do it soon. I want some time alone with you."

His teeth grazed her ear. Mouth pressed kisses into her neck. "We'll need a car or something."

"We can rent and dump it at a mirror rental place there. I was thinking more we need a hotel."

He kissed her, sucking on her lower lip. "I like the way you think, woman," he said, although, inside, he had his doubts. What if this left her afraid of him? What if she needed something he couldn't give her? What if he wasn’t able to be gentle or slow or misread her signals and ended up hurting her more? What if….

"Come on." Rachel kissed him, then climbed off his lap. "We've got brothers to catch up with and a mystery to bury."

He put his hands in hers and let himself be pulled up. Kissed her, then slung his arm around her waist. "Let's go."

* * *

Sam pulled into the gas station and cut the engine on the Impala. For a moment, he sat there, head against the seat rest, eyes closed. He just breathed, enjoying the silence, one hand on his forehead, rubbing, trying to work out the headache.

"You okay?" came Nathan's voice, sleepy and slow.

"Yeah. Just a headache."

"Yuck. Hate those."

A hand rested on Sam's neck. Nathan began squeezing the muscle in Sam's neck, massaging gently.

Sam laughed faintly. "Thanks. That's not where the headache is, though. It's sitting right behind my eyes."

Silence. Then, "Well. I know a pretty sure fire way to get rid of headaches," Nathan purred in a seductive voice.

He laughed again. "Yeah, that doesn't work well with me. If I have a headache, it just sort of makes it worse."

"You're not doing it right, then." Nathan began to move in his seat. His seatbelt unclicked.

"I swear to God, Nathan, if you climb on top of me while we're sitting in a gas station in full daylight, I will strangle you."

"So… Can I climb on top of you when we get to our motel tonight?"

Sam opened his eyes, just managing to refrain from rolling them. "I'm getting gas. Why don't you get some coffee? I'm going to make you drive the rest of the way." He climbed out of the car.

Nathan followed, his door slamming shut. "You take it, what? One sugar no cream?"

"Two sugars."

He clicked his tongue and pointed at Sam, fingers mocking guns. "Coming right up." He wandered off to the mini mart, rubbing his eyes as he went.

Sam laughed as he watched Nathan go and started to gas up the Impala. It had been impossible to get Nathan up that morning. He was worse than Dean and Rachel put together. At least those two got out of bed at the promise of coffee; Nathan had to be dragged, shoved into the car where he then lay, motionless against the window, snoring. And drooling. Which he didn't do while he was in bed.

Not that Sam had firsthand experience. But he hadn't heard Nathan snore all night. As for the drool… well. He was only assuming.

Sam had been fine with driving. Dean loved to drive and Sam rarely got the chance. But with the increasing headache, he just didn't want to. Let Nathan have a shot.

God. Dean was going to kill him when he found out. He only just started letting Rachel drive, and that'd only started after a hunt where Dean and Sam had both gotten banged up really bad. They'd both gotten head injuries, and Rachel had refused to let either one drive. Dean had breathed down her neck the entire time, but, after that, she'd been allowed into the rotation.

Sam was cleaning the windows when Nathan came back with two large cups of coffee. He stayed silent, merely handing it off, then leaning against the hood. His brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed. He sipped the coffee and looked off into the distance.

"Something on your mind?" Sam asked. He set the squeegee back into the bucket.

"Yeah. What do you think happened to her stuff?"

He frowned. Followed Nathan's eyes. "You think whoever took her donated her clothes to a thrift store? Seriously?"

"Well. The hotel would have kept the stuff after the missing persons report came through. But it was already gone. But there you guys said that it wasn't her clothes and stuff at the cabin. So. What happened to her stuff?"

"It was dumped."

Nathan shook his head. "No." He pulled away from the car. Stared walking to the store.

"Nathan? Nathan, come on, man." Sam followed him shaking his head. "This is crazy. Her stuff got dumped. Probably some homeless people found it, if that. It's gone."

"She was taken by someone she trusted, Sam," Nathan said. "We know that. Someone who burned the bodies for her. Who eased her foot out of that crack. Who took care of her out there."

"That doesn't mean…"

Nathan turned around, walking backwards. "What if the demon didn't possess whoever took her until later? Or, like, it was inside him, but didn't take control until the cabin?"

"What if it did?"

"Then they must have passed through this town. Road goes right through it. And if Rachel passed through any town with that demon, she would have tried to escape, even if it meant jumping out of a moving car. We would have heard about that. There was an APB out for her here, right?"

Sam nodded. "We called every town. Dean and I came through here. We checked."

"So?"

"No one had seen her."

"So, there you go."

"Except, no had seen her. Even if they donated her stuff… and why would they? How would they? They'd be seen by whoever was accepting the donations."

Nathan pointed at the drop off in the parking lot. Outside the truck were bags and boxes, people who had dropped things off with no attendant. "Besides," he added, "she probably stayed in the car. Whoever she was with did the drop off."

"That still doesn't answer why."

They were at the door now. Nathan smiled at Sam, batted his eyelashes. "Rachel would have done whatever she could to get clues to us. Even something as farfetched as this." With that, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The thrift store looked just like every other thrift store Sam had ever been into. Racks of clothes everywhere. Furniture and jumbled electronics. Books, tapes, records. The stale smell of dust mingled with some kind of cleaner.

"Nathan, this is crazy. We're not going to find anything. And I still think you're grasping at straws. Maybe she wasn't even in the car. Maybe she was in the trunk."

Nathan was heading straight to a rack of women's tee shirts. At Sam's comment, he shrugged. "They make 'em so you can open trunks from the inside now."

"Maybe it was an older model."

"Like we haven't locked each other in the trunk a million times to practice getting out."

"Please say that isn't true."

He smiled at Sam. "Okay. It isn't true."

"And I thought me and Dean were screwed up." He ran his hands through his hair. "Okay, but Nathan, think. Even if she got free or even if she managed to convince who she was with to donate her stuff, how we know it was even this town?"

Nathan didn't answer. After placing his coffee on the floor, he began pushing shirts on the rack aside, each movement harder than the last.

"Nathan," Sam said, voice softer, coming up next to him. "There's no way to know where they might have stopped. Maybe they stopped somewhere else."

"Then we stop at every town on the way."

"What?"

"I said we stop at every town from here to there!" Nathan shouted, rounding on Sam. "She would have found a way!"

"Nathan…"

"Stop arguing and start looking, dammit. Or go wait in the car!" He turned back to the shirts and continued looking.

For a moment, all Sam could do was stand and stare stupidly. Nathan was… good tempered and easy going. He didn't…snap.

Except, apparently, he did.

After a moment, he turned to the rack behind him. Sipped his coffee as he looked through the rack of tee-shirts. Tank tops. Like all thrift store clothes, they were a mishmash of "so new, why is it they here" to "dear God in heaven, why wasn’t this tossed and what is that stain?"

And then…

"Nathan."

"What?"

"Look." He pulled the white tank top with Yale scrawled across the front from the rack. The top he'd seen a million times as Rachel had paced the room at night, before she disappeared into her and Dean's room where, Sam knew, it usually ended up on the floor until morning.

To Nathan, it was a lifeline. His eyes widened and mouth split into a grin. "Rachel!"

And, just like that, the search was on. They tore through the racks like madmen, looking for something, anything else they recognized. Sam found a couple shirts that looked familiar. Nathan snagged a jacket that still had her purple pen stashed in the inside pocket.

"I have no idea about pants," Sam said after they'd finished going through the shirts and jackets. "She wears jeans."

Nathan waved his hands dismissively at them. "Let's look at the books." He held the jacket against his chest tightly, like he was afraid to put it down. His knuckles were white as he clutched the fabric, but his face was set. Determined as he walked across the store to the books. "Look through the journals," he said when they got there. "See if any of them are written in or anything."

"Okay." Sam scanned the books until he saw some journals in the bottom bin. He crouched next to them and began flipping through.

He was surprised at how many journals there were. Most had pages ripped out, but some were practically brand new. The strangest were the scant few that still had writing in them. There was one written by a little girl about ten years old. Her picture was in it, a movie stub, and some drawings. There were only five entries, all about school and friends. He wondered what had happened to the girl. Why her journal was there.

Then he set it aside, a little creeped out. Reading other people's lives, especially mundane stuff like the thoughts of a ten year old kid, was uncomfortable.

That was the only journal with anything significant written in it. The rest had curse words scribbled across a page or doodles. Nothing much. Sam went through the whole box before pushing it back.

"No journal. Find any books?"

"Her Modern Demonolatry book and one of her books on magic charms," Nathan said absentmindedly. He was looking at a paperback book in his hand, frowning.

Sam stood and looked over his shoulder. Nudged him. "Didn't think romance books would be your genre," he remarked on seeing the title.

"No. But… I think this was Rachel's."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. She doesn't read romance. She makes fun of them every time we go into a store. Does the dramatic readings of the back."

"Yeah, she and I used to go to the bookstore all the time and do that," Nathan said a tad wistfully. He smiled up at Sam. "We were so obnoxious."

"You, obnoxious?" Sam nudged Nathan again with his shoulder. "I can't imagine."

Nathan beamed up at him before turning back to the book. "No, I just, okay. It's A Dark Night written by Rachel Fisher. There hero in it is Sir Nathan something or other. If I remember correctly, she bought it as a joke." He opened the front over.

The author's name was underlined. When he flipped to the summary on the back, they saw Rachel underlined again and the name Nathan boxed.

"This was hers," Nathan said. "There's gotta be some kind of message in here. I'm taking it."

"Taking?"

He rolled his eyes. "Buying, whatever. Come on. Let's buy this stuff and hit the road again. We've got a cabin to explore."

* * *  
It'd been Rachel's suggestion they stop for the night. It'd taken hours for them to get out of New Haven, to convince her grandfather that she was ready to go, her parents, to find a car, to break up yet another fight between Dean and her grandfather. She'd wanted to go, eager to see Nathan (and punch him), needing to see the cabin where she was found. Needing to be away from the smothering love her parents were heaping on her. They meant well, she knew that. And she knew they were trying not to smother her. And yet, it was too much.

She was used to the road now. Felt comfortable on it. But she hadn't thought ahead.

Because now it was time for bed. And while she and Dean have been sharing a bed since she'd been discovered in that cabin, this was the first time since she'd gotten her memory back. And they were alone. In a hotel room.

And Rachel wasn't sure she was ready to have sex.

She hadn't even thought that this might be a problem. She'd been too focused on remembering who she was and finding out what exactly had happened. But now, staring at the bed, dressed in a pair of Dean's boxers and a tank top, it felt as if the air was crushing around her. The expectation. She and Dean were married. They had sex a lot. They were newlyweds, after all, and sometimes it was like Rachel couldn't get enough of him.

But right now…

Dean came out of the bathroom, shirt off, jeans unbuttoned. Rachel watched out of the corner of her eyes as he went to the door and checked the protective barrier of salt before crossing to the windows to do the same. She laced her fingers together, squeezing her palms against one another and tried to take a deep breaths without being obvious.

The jeans came off. Dean folded them over once before tossing them onto the chair next to the bed. Then he crawled under the covers. Looked at Rachel.

Immediately, his face went from one of relaxed happiness to wary alertness. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. Tried to smile, but it came out a grimace.

"Rach." Dean pulled down the covers and ran his hand over the sheets. "Come on. I'm not going to bite."

"I know." Her heart was pounding. She climbed onto the bed.

Dean took her hand. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm okay."

"Bullshit." He reached for Rachel's hand and gently untangled one. Engulfed it in his own large one, rubbing his calloused thumb over her finger. "This 'cause of what happened?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. Swallowed. "I get it. I mean, you were… you know. Raped." He winced. Looked away. "It doesn't matter. To me. You know. I still, like, want you. Love you. I mean. It doesn't change. Anything."

Rachel nodded. Leaned her head against Dean's shoulder. "It's not… I just feel like. I don't know." She sighed. "I can't remember what happened. What snatches I think I remember are… nice. I wasn't scared, I wasn't in pain."

"I'd rather that than…"

"I know what you said, Dean," Rachel said, smiling softly. She wasn't sure she believed him, but if he needed to convince himself that it was okay if she cheated on him instead of just being… raped, he could. "But it's not that. Whether I was hurt or not, if the demon r-raped me or if I had an affair…"

"Didn't happen. It's not in you."

"Okay, so if I was under a spell or whatever. Even if I enjoyed it or something. The fact is my body did something and I don't remember it. It's like… It's like I lent someone a shirt or something, only instead of a shirt, it's _me_. I'm the shirt. My body was borrowed by someone or something and it… it did something and I don't remember. I can't remember and I feel, I don't know. Betrayed. Like I can't trust it. Me. Like… like… I don't even know. Like I don't even belong in my body or something. Like it's a stranger and I just…" She closed her eyes, tears flowing down her cheeks.

Dean put his arm around Rachel. Pulled her to him and kissed her on top of her head. "I don't know what to do."

"Me neither."

"I'm not gonna, you know. Force you to have sex with me. Or pressure you."

"I know." She curled her legs under her. "I know you wouldn't. But it's not about that. It's not about you. I'm just… frustrated."

This time Dean didn't say anything. Just ran his fingers through her hair. Kissed her on the top of her head every few minutes.

After an eternity passed, Rachel let out a sigh. "This sucks."

"I'm with you."

"I wanted to be alone with you. I want to be with you. But I'm just all fucked up. You know? I just… I want to know what happened. I want my brother. I want to feel normal, but I don't know how that's ever going to happen."

"I think," Dean said, pulling away. "And just tell me I'm an idiot or whatever, but let's just… not worry about anything but, you know. Getting to the cabin. Getting you there. Cause that's what we're doing. Driving there. It's just late. We're tired. We're just here to sleep, and we've got that part down."

"We had the other part down, too. Before I disappeared, I thought we were pretty good." She looked up at him.

"We were awesome." Dean smiled down at her. Traced her mouth with his finger before lowering his face. Kissing her softly, mouth open.

She opened her mouth under his. Welcomed his tongue as it dipped into her mouth. Shivered as his hand stroked up her back, large and warm on her skin under her shirt.

Dean pulled away first. "Maybe we should go to sleep."

"No. I like this." Rachel wrapped her arms around Dean's neck. Pulled him on top of her as she lay back, bringing their mouths back together.

Except for the first few days of their marriage, Dean never had to be talked in to fooling around. He came willingly, propping himself above her so she wasn't smothered by his weight. One hand, as it always seemed to be, was tangled in her hair, pulling it away from her neck so it fanned out around her, then caressing her neck with his fingers so shivers ran down her.

And this was familiar. This she knew and her body knew and she felt almost in sync. Almost as if her body's betrayal hadn't happened, and it hadn't been off for two weeks doing God knows what.

Because Dean was over her and he was around her. She knew him and knew her body's reaction to him. She could control this, stop it if it got too far for her, or let it happen as she saw fit.

So they kissed and Rachel let her hands wander Dean's body, feeling the scars and the muscles and every bit of him that she knew and had explored before. Tried to let herself get lost in him and the sensation of his hands on her breasts and the feel of him pressing through his boxers, lying heavy and hard against her hip.

And she reached down and rubbed him through the thin material. Reached inside and grasped him as he shifted, giving her better access. And as she stroked him, relearning him and his weight, he tugged at her shorts. Tugged them off her legs and slid his fingers inside.

The both jerked at the same time, Rachel in discomfort and Dean in surprised.

"This is too much for you," he said, sitting up. He rubbed his eyes and pulled away. "I'm sorry, babe, I…"

"No. No, Dean it's not your fault. I was fine, I swear."

"You're not even wet. It's okay."

She shook her head, tears in her eyes again. "No. I was enjoying it, really. I…"

"Hey." He pulled her into his arms, making shushing noises and rubbing her back. "Hey, it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"Dean…"

He sighed. Kissed her.

She pushed him away. "No, I just… It's unfair to stop there. To make you stop there. I can, you know. I can give you a blow job or something."

Dean shook his head. He looked tired, pain in his eyes evident, even though he was trying to hide it. Be stoic. Comforting, when she knew how much it killed him to have a member of his family hurt.

To have her hurt.

"I'm not in the mood, Rach. I'm still in the… you know. Thinking about you mode. Worrying about you. Wanting to make sure you're okay."

"It's not sex I'm afraid of. It's not you I'm afraid of. It's me. It's trying to remember how this all fits."

He nods. "I get that. I do. But just, you know. Until you fit again, let's not worry about how I fit. In you. Um. With you. Or whatever. You lead me. And, tonight, you led me as far as we're going tonight. As far as you're ready."

He was right. She knew that. She'd known that from the moment that she'd taken him in hand that she wasn't ready to go that far. Not tonight.

She put her hand on his cheek. Kissed him. "I love you, Dean."

"I know," he said, giving her a smile. "And I know that we're going to work this out. I ain't worried. We're gonna get through this."

She hugged him, clinging to him and his belief. She needed that strength right now. She needed him.

* * *  
"This is it," Sam said, putting the car into park. "This is the cabin." He looked over at Nathan.

He looked exactly like Rachel. Pale face, big eyes. Teeth clenched, breathing in short, shallow breaths. All he needed was the long hair and it could be her.

"You okay?"

Nathan nodded. Took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he let it out. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." He grabbed the handle of the door. "Let's do this."

He climbed out of the car, Sam trailing behind. The door opened under Nathan's touch; it wasn't locked, even after all these weeks.

"Shit," Nathan breathed when he stepped inside. His hand flew up to the charm around his neck and he gasped it, white knuckled.

"You okay?" Sam asked, worried. Nathan's face was grey and he looked like he was going to puke.

"Yeah." His voice was strained. "Fine." Nathan squeezed his eyes shut. Stood a moment. Swayed. "Fuck." He tuned and lurched out the door, into the sunshine, and tripped down the stairs, landing face first in the dirt below.

Sam ran outside and down the stairs. "Nathan!" He crouched next to the other man. Put a hand on his back. "What the hell, man?"

Nathan lay there, panting. Tuned his head towards Sam. "There's something I haven't told you," he said softly.

"What?" Sam ran his hand over Nathan's forehead; he was burning hot, sweat plastering his hair to his skin.

With shaking arms, Nathan pushed himself up. He swayed a moment, then leaned against Sam. "I haven't told anyone, not even Rachel." He closed his eyes. "I'm kind of empathic."

"What?"

He let out a long breath. "I can sense… spells and energies and demons. Feel them. Their powers, how powerful they are." He lifted his head. "That's how I know the demon in the cave is connected to you. All the necklace does is alert me to the fact something is supernatural. I'm the one who senses the other stuff." He licked his lips. "It's why I became Wiccan. It helps me center myself and… and by learning cleansing spells and stuff, I can help. If there's something dark and evil, I can change it."

"Why haven't you told anyone?"

"I don't know. Except, if I did, I'd have to go home. My grandfather would want to dig through my mind, and my parents would want to study it. Rachel would be worried. Hell, I'm worried." He shook his head. "I can't do anything. Like, outside of spells and stuff, or exorcism, it's not a power. It's just… I can feel."

Sam sighed. "So what happened in there?"

"I wasn't ready for the amount of energy in there. There's… tons. It's insane. Not just the demon, but other stuff, and I went in totally unshielded."

"We don't have to go in."

Nathan shook his head, rolling it against Sam's shoulder. "I'll be fine. I just wasn't prepared. I am now." He didn’t move.

Sam just sat there, waiting. Gazing out at the woods, at the morning light as they filtered through the leaves. It was so beautiful here. Quiet, isolated. The kind of place you went to get away from it all. It was a jarring contrast to what had happened to Rachel.

"Okay," Nathan finally said. He rose to his feet. "Once more unto the breach."

Sam rolled his eyes as he followed Nathan. "You and your sister, man."

Nathan laughed.

This time when Nathan went inside, he seemed fine. His breath hitched a little, but that was it. Nothing like before.

"Nice place," Nathan said, looking around.

Sam followed his gaze.

The place was your stereotypical cabin retreat: all earth tones and wooden furniture. There was a fireplace with a blanket that might be bearskin in front of it, a coffee table with some magazines strewn across it, a couch and a couple of chairs. There was no TV, but there was a stereo by the fireplace. Some blankets were draped over the back of the chairs and couch.

"Yeah," Sam said.

Nathan frowned. Went to the seating area and picked up a magazine. "Some of the pages are torn out." He dropped it and went to the fireplace. "Burned pages in here. Why?"

"Bad articles?"

"Funny. You know that romance book from the thrift store? I think there's a code in it. I keep finding these little dots under words and letters."

"Is that what you were writing down?"

Nathan nodded. "I can't find the key, though. It's just a bunch of random words and letters." He sat on the couch and slid his hand between the cushions. "I wonder if she tried to leave code in the magazines, only they got destroyed."

"You have such… strange theories."

"Why is that strange?" He pulled a pen out from the couch.

"Why not destroy the whole magazine if there was a code in it? Why let her write in them in the first place? Why would she… No, wait. I actually have no problem believing she'd write a message in code in the magazine" He tugged at his shirt. It was kind of warm in the cabin.

Nathan stood and tucked the pen in his pocket. "I'm working off the theory that we're dealing with two different entities. One rescued Rachel and brought her here. Then the demon showed up and…" He trailed off. "I just don't know how long the other person was here before the demon took over."

Sam shrugged. "I'm not entirely sold on that."

"So you seriously think that the demon burned and salted the bodies of the kids, stopped so Rachel could donate her belongings, and then brought her here?"

"We don't know he did those things."

"Except we have all this proof. God! You are so stubborn." Nathan pushed passed Sam and went into the hall. Into the bedroom. "Shit!"

"Nathan?" Sam ran after him not knowing what to expect. He pulled his gun just in case.

Nathan was standing just inside the bedroom, leaning over, hands on his knees. He was breathing heavily.

Sam blinked, his vision going blurry. It seemed incredibly hot in the room. Steamy almost. There was a thick haze in the air and his vision swam. "What's…what's going on?" He stumbled a few steps. Braced himself against the dresser.

"I felt in the other room, just not this badly," Nathan panted. He turned, looking at Sam. Sweat beaded along his hairline and his eyes were heavy lidded. "It's like a lust spell. More powerful than I've ever heard of. Felt. It's like… like it got built up with no one to use it."

He shook his head. "What?"

"Get out of here." His voice was hoarse. Rough.

"What?"

Nathan stumbled towards Sam. Pushed up against him. His hands locked around Sam's neck and he pulled down.

Sam's head swum as their mouths connected. And suddenly, the only thing in the world was Nathan and his mouth and his hands. He kissed the other man, arms wrapping around his waist, holding him. Tasting him, sucking on his tongue and…

A car door slammed outside. He heard Dean's voice.

Nathan tore his mouth away. "We have get out of here," he whispered. He trailed kisses over Sam's jaw and neck.

"Yeah." He groaned when Nathan bit his neck. Turned his head and kissed the top of his head. Pulled him away, tilting Nathan's head back. Kissed him, nibbling on Nathan's lower lip.

"You don't even want this," Nathan moaned, arching into Sam. His hand slipped underneath Sam's shirt, tracing pattering against his skin. "It's just the spell."

The front door opened. Footsteps.

Nathan's hair was soft and silky between his fingers. He couldn't stop running his fingers through it. "Yeah." He found Nathan's mouth again. Kissed him.

The front door slammed. Silence.

Nathan went limp against him. His head pressed against Sam's neck. "Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Sam pressed a kiss against Nathan's temple. Moved down and nibbled on his ear.

Abruptly, Nathan tore himself away. "Come on. We're going." He turned, walking like a drunk man.

Dazed, horny, and completely confused, Sam followed him out.

* * *  
Dean pulled up in front of the cabin and cut the engine. The Impala was already parked out front and the door was open, but Sam and Nathan were nowhere in sight.

"We're here," he said unnecessarily. He glanced over at Rachel.

She was staring at the house, hardly breathing. Her eyes were wide, face pale, and her hands were clasped tightly together in her lap.

"You don't have to go in," he said, undoing his seatbelt and turning to her. He carefully pulled at one of her hands and took it in his own. "Me, Sam, and your brother can look around inside. You stay out here. Or I'll take you to a hotel."

"I thought you weren't going to let me out of your sight ever again."

He gave her a half-smile and kissed the inside of her wrist. Then he laced their fingers together. Right now, he wasn't exactly sure what to say. What the right words were. Rachel had said once that sometimes, just not saying anything was the right words, so to speak. Maybe this was the time.

So he didn't say anything. Just sat there holding her hand.

It took a long time. Well. Ten minutes, but it was a long time to be sitting in a car not doing anything. He wondered where the other two were, and what Rachel was going to do and what he was going to do if she fell apart. He wished there was something here to kill.

"Okay," Rachel finally said. "I'm going in."

"You don't have to."

"Yeah, I do." She released his hand and climbed out of the car. She hesitated when she was out, but then tossed her hair back and straightened her shoulders. Hands clenched into fists at her sides, she marched towards the house.

There was a sick feeling in the pit of Dean's stomach. He couldn't say why, just that something was going to happen. And it wasn't going to be good.

Grabbing his gun even though he knew it probably wouldn’t be needed, he climbed out of the car.

Rachel got to the bottom of the porch. Her determined pace slowed as she climbed the stairs. Dean could see her shoulders getting tighter, arms shaking. He wanted to stop her.

He didn't.

The doorknob turned easily, door unlocked. Rachel got one foot inside before she suddenly reeled back. Turned and ran for the stairs, tripping down them and landing in an ungraceful heap at the bottom. She pushed herself to all fours and stayed there. Head hanging down, panting.

Dean walked over to her. Crouched down besides her. "You okay?"

She nodded. Swallowed a few times and slowly sat back. "I don't know what happened," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"You have some kind of flashback? Or memory maybe?" Dean rubbed her back. She was trembling.

"No. No, nothing like that. I just kept thinking that this is where I was kept. This is where I was held and… and hurt and.." She swallowed. Whispered, "Raped."

Dean clenched his jaw. Wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to him. "Let's go, babe. Hit the road and just go."

She turned into his embrace, hand fisting into his shirt. "I'll be fine. Just give me a minute to get used to be here. Being back."

"I don't want you to get used to it. I want to go. To leave." He tightened his arms around her. "Let me and Sam worry about looking in here. You don't have to."

"You don't have any memories. I might."

The door opened. Dean glanced back to see Nathan and Sam stumble out like they were completely wasted. Their clothes were all messed up, hair, too.

He and Rachel rose, turning to them. Rachel was trembling, tears in her eyes.

"Nathan?"

Nathan looked up, blinking. His eyes looked fuzzy, out of focus for a moment. Then they sharpened. He inhaled, straightening. "Rach."

Rachel sniffed. Pulled away from Dean, climbing the stairs. "You didn't call. You never called me."

"I know. I'm sorry, Rachel."

"How could you just…" She grabbed him, fists clenching in his shirt. Pushed him away, then pulled him to her. Her arms wrapped around him and she clung.

"I'm sorry," Nathan whispered, holding her. He closed his eyes, rubbed her back. "I'm sorry, Rachel."

She held on for a few more minutes, then pulled away. "You smell like Sam."

His face turned bright red and he shot a look at Sam.

Sam was red, too, and looking anywhere but Nathan.

"Nathan?" Rachel's voice was flat.

"It's not like that. There's a…" He cleared his throat. "A lust spell on the place. It's built up since you left, and, uh…"

Rachel sighed. Stepped away from him and rubbed her eyes. "So, basically, it's not safe to go in?"

"Not until we diffuse it."

"Wait. Wait, what?" Dean came up behind Rachel and put his hand on her shoulder. "Lust spell?"

Nathan blushed more deeply. "Yeah."

It still wasn't quite registering. He looked from Nathan to Sam and back. Nathan was flushed and there were bruises on his neck. His lips were all swollen, like he'd been kissing and he looked like Rachel after they'd…. Oh. Oh fuck.

"Wait, you and my brother were… Gross!"

"Oh, don't be such a Neanderthal," Nathan said, rolling his eyes. "It's not like…"

"Look," Sam said, stepping in. "Whatever's going on in there, it's powerful. I've never felt anything like that. It was like I couldn’t stop myself."

"Dude! I don’t need details!" shouted Dean.

"I'm not giving details, asshole," Sam shot back. "Christ. All I'm saying is that it's not safe for anyone to go in there until it's cleared up." He turned to Nathan. "You do know how to do that, right?"

Nathan nodded. "Yeah. I need to get some supplies, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"All right. So, I'll go with Nathan to get whatever he needs and you and Rachel… Rachel? What's wrong?"

Dean pulled Rachel around to face him. Her face was covered in tears, chin trembling, crying as she looked at the house.

"Babe?"

"Just… Just leave me alone." She pulled away from Dean and started running off.

"Rachel!" Dean shouted, starting to go after her.

There was a hand on his arm. He glanced over at Nathan, who had him.

"I'll go."

"Oh, yeah, now you're interested in talking to her," Dean said, snorting.

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Guilt trip me later. Let me talk to her now."

He glared another moment, then shrugged, relenting. Stepped aside and gestured in the direction Rachel had run.

"Thanks." Nathan took off after his sister.

Dean turned and looked at his brother. "These Adamses are going to be the death of me."

"Yeah, I know." Sam rubbed his face with both hands. "Nathan is… he's a handful."

"So I gather," Dean said wryly.

"Don't start. It was… it was weird in there. Like I couldn't think." He sat on the porch and massaged his temples. "Lust spell. I've never felt one of those before. It's like being drunk on another planet."

"Whatever that means." He sat next to Sam. "You know, Rachel told me she's gotten some flashes of what happened. That they were good memories. Being with someone she liked." He glanced at his brother. "Think the lust spell had something to do with it?"

Sam shrugged. Sighed. "Maybe. I don't know." He sighed again, feeling exhausted. The spell had taken a lot out of him, and he felt drained. "Nathan is pretty convinced that there were two… entities."

"Entities?"

"I don't want to say people. One was the demon. But the other, well, Nathan thinks it was someone else. Someone who burned the bodies for her. Who let her donate her clothes to charity instead of trashing them. Let her feel safe enough to put a code in a book and some of the magazines in there."

"What?"

Sam explained about the book and the magazines, bringing him up to speed on what they'd found.

"What do you think?" Dean asked.

"I don't know." Sam shook his head. "Maybe… maybe there's something to his theory. Maybe the demon didn't hold her for two weeks."

"But she was burned. There was sulfur."

"I'm not saying that he wasn't here. Nathan said that he could feel the demon both in the cave and here. Just, maybe… maybe he let whoever he was possessing take the reins for some of the time. And, whoever that was, Rachel trusted him. Liked him."

Dean rubbed his chin and gazed out at the woods where Rachel and her brother had disappeared. "So. What we need to do is for Rachel to remember who she was with and maybe we'll get some kind of answers."

"Or maybe we won't. Maybe… maybe there are no answers. Just the demon taking her and fuckin... screwing around with us. Our heads and sense of security. Maybe there was no other point."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

Rachel ran, crashing through the trees blindly. She couldn't think, didn't want to think. Just needed to get away. Escape.

So, of course, she tripped over a fallen log. Went flying and hit the dirt. The air was knocked from her. Instead of pushing herself up, she just lay there, panting against the ground, smelling pine needles and sap and dirt.

A lust spell. There was a lust spell on the cabin. A strong one from what Nathan had said. And those things fed off themselves, meaning the more you fed off it, the stronger it got. And then, if it wasn't used, it built up to the level it'd been used.

Meaning she and whoever had been in that place had been really affected by it. They'd fed off the spell and fed it back.

It was all kind of humiliating in addition to being really fucking scary.

"Not a good place for a nap," Nathan said, his feet crunching in the debris of the forest.

Rachel closed her eyes. Didn't say anything.

"I know I'm jerk of the year. I'm sorry, Rachel. I didn't know how to handle this any other way."

Now she did push herself up. "You didn't know how to handle this?" She turned, wiping dirt off her face.

Nathan looked miserable. There were tears in his eyes, and he was hunched over on himself as he sat on the fallen log. "I know this is stupid, but you're my big sister. You're invincible, you know? You're the one that makes everything okay, and then…"

She sighed. Reluctantly moved to sit next to Nathan. "You are so full of shit."

He almost cracked a smile. "What? You are my big sister. You always made everything okay for me. And I'm just freaked out about not being able to do the same for you. So, I thought, hey? Why not come out here and get her stuff?"

"I didn't want my stuff. I wanted my brother."

"Yeah, well. Your brother's a jerk. And a wimp."

Rachel sighed. Leaned over and kissed Nathan on the temple, then leaned her head against his. "You're not a wimp."

"I just don't want to think about what happened to you," he whispered. "To think of you scared and hurt and all alone."

"Yeah," she said, bitterness in her voice. "Except now we know I wasn't so scared and hurt, huh? Not with a lust spell spurring me on."

He took her hand. Squeezed it. "I'm seriously questioning if a lust spell would work around a demon of that power."

"What?"

"Whoever or whatever that demon is, it's crazy powerful. More powerful than the spell. I think that its mere presence would probably be enough to extinguish the spell."

"Then why have it there at all? And how do you know how powerful it is?" Rachel asked, pulling her head away from Nathan's.

He waved his free hand dismissively. "I’m empathic. And I don't know. Unless it was cast to make you sleep with whoever was there before the demon took over."

"You're what? And what?"

"I think that the demon probably, like, made a pact with someone. Someone you know and trust. He rescued you, brought you here."

"And…slept with me? Why? What's the point?"

Nathan shrugged. "I don't know. That's where my theory falls flat. I don't get any of this."

"Me neither." She sighed."You can get rid of the spell?"

"Yeah. No problem."

"And what's this about you being empathic?"

Nathan turned red. "Oh, yeah. That."

"Yeah, that. Start explaining. Now."

* * *  
Nathan stood leaning against the door to the bathroom as he brushed his teeth, looking into the motel room at Sam. He'd been watching Sam for quite a few minutes now, and the other man hadn't said a word. He didn't seem to notice, as he was engrossed in Nathan's spell book, turning the pages slowly.

The lust spell would be gone by morning. In fact, Nathan was pretty sure it was gone now, but he didn't want his sister to go into that cabin at night. Not that it mattered, not really. The house were Rachel had been raped was the house Rachel had been raped, day or night. He really didn't think that the ordeal had been confined to one particular time, and he really didn't think that there was any danger going there anymore.

He just didn't want to be there at night. The place gave him the creeps. It was cozy and well decorated. Comfortable. Romantic, even.

It made him feel ill.

Luckily, the rest seemed to feel the same. They'd let Nathan set the cleansing spell, done a half-hearted sweep of the outside for clues, then gone to check into the nearest hotel. Rachel and Dean were next door, leaving Nathan and Sam alone. He'd wanted to get a room of his own, or sleep in the car or something. After what happened today, he just didn't think it was right to stay in the same room as Sam.

And yet, here he was. One room. Two beds. And Sam was just sitting there, acting like nothing had ever happened.

Nathan couldn't forget, though. The way Sam's mouth had felt on his. Or his hands on Nathan's body, stroking his hair. How they hadn't been able to stop kissing. Couldn't keep their hands off each other.

It'd been wonderful. And horrible. Being out of control like that, it'd been terrifying. He'd never done anything stronger than pot and almost never drank. But being in that room had been like being high and drunk and out of his mind all at once.

He had no idea how he'd managed to summon the strength to push Sam away.

"You going to stand there all night?" Sam asked. He glanced over at Nathan and grinned. "You look like a rabid dog."

Nathan blushed and he ducked back into the bathroom. Sure enough, there was foam dripping down his chin, making him look like an idiot.

He quickly rinsed out his mouth. Swished some mouth wash through it, then wiped the last of the foam away. Then, he took a deep breath and went back into the bedroom.

"This is interesting stuff," Sam said, shutting the book. "It's lucky you had it."

Nathan shrugged a shoulder. "We all have our little collections, right? I have my magic books, Rachel has her computer program, and you and Dean have your dad's journal." He climbed onto his bed and crossed his legs under him. "If I hadn't had the right spell, there are always people to call."

"Yeah, but this saves us time." Sam lay out and propped his head on his fist. "I wouldn't have expected you to get all freaked out about what happened this morning."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not flirting with me. Haven't since this morning. It's like you're a completely different person."

He cleared his throat. "I, uh. I just didn't think it was appropriate. Besides, you're straight and not interested, so it's time to give up, right?" He gave Sam what he hoped was a gracious smile.

Sam just looked at him with a steady gaze. "You weren't flirting because you thought you actually stood a chance with me. Maybe you hoped, but that's not why you did it. You're like Dean. Flirting is like breathing to you."

Nathan could feel himself blushing. He hadn't thought that Sam would be quite so perceptive. Most men were so freaked out by another man flirting with them, they either reacted with fists or did their best to ignore it. Nathan figured Sam fell into the second category; he hadn't been expecting him to actually think about it.

"Maybe," he finally conceded. "But it feels weird now. It went too far."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Yeah, but…"

"It wasn't your fault, Nathan. In fact, you were the stronger one. You stopped it. I would have kept going if you hadn't pulled away."

He cleared his throat again and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn't know what to say.

Sam sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of his bed. Leaned forward. "Look, Nathan. I always thought that kissing another guy would be gross. But it wasn't. It actually wasn't any different than kissing a girl, except you have stubble and don't taste like lipstick. Other than that, it was the same. It was nice. I'm not saying I'm gay, or even that I'm interested. I'm just not freaked out. Or grossed out. I'm fine." He frowned, forehead furrowing. "This demon keeps messing around with my family, trying to get us to dance to its tune. If you stop being who you are because it got to you, then it wins."

"You believe that load of crap?" Nathan asked with a lopsided smile.

Sam returned it. "Yeah, I do. It sounds cheesy, but it's true."

He nodded, turning Sam's words over in his head. Then he rose, crowded into Sam's space. "Wasn't gross, huh?"

Sam looked up at him. Rolled his eyes. "Nathan."

Nathan leaned down and pressed a light kiss against Sam's mouth. "A straight guy would think it was, even under the influence of a lust spell. After it faded away, they'd be disgusted."

"Maybe I'm enlightened."

Nathan kissed him again. "Maybe you're bent." This time the kiss was longer, lingering. Closed-mouth, but their lips clung and held on.

Sam pulled away first. "I'm going to bed."

"That an invitation?"

"Good-night, Nathan." He turned off the light and crawled under the covers.

Nathan watched him a moment, then went back into the bathroom. He needed a cold shower.

* * *  
Rachel leans against the railing of the porch and gazes out into the darkness. Her feet are bare and she curls her toes against the wood. She feels relaxed. Almost happy, in a quiet kind of way. She's been here nearly two weeks and has moved beyond anger and denial to acceptance. It's been her only choice, after all; she's tried everything else.

A strong pair of arms wraps around her waist and pulls her into a warm, familiar body. Rachel leans back against it, allowing her head to loll against his chest. She doesn't say anything, just continues listen to the chirping of the crickets and whistling of the breeze.

"Hello, Princess."

The voice is the one she's heard every day since her rescue from the troll cave. But she knows.

Rachel stiffens and tries to pull away. He doesn't allow her to, just holds her tighter.

"Now, now," he admonishes, mocking laughter in his voice. "You were so comfy a minute ago. Why start fighting now?"

She clenches her teeth. Forces herself to relax. Not to fight. She knows he'll just hurt her, and he's stronger than she is.

Instead, she lets out a long breath. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

"Been here the whole time. Just let someone else drive for awhile."

This time when she pulls away, he lets her.

She turns, arms crossed over her chest. "Get out of that body."

His grin is so achingly familiar, her eyes prickle. "What are you talking about? I made this body."

"It's not yours. You don't deserve to be in there. Get out."

He grabs her by the arms and pulls her to him. "Can't leave until I'm sure the job's done, Princess." Still holding her by the arms, he hauls her up. Smashes his lips against her.

Her heart pounds in her ears. All she can do is fist his shirt as he ravages her mouth, force herself not to fight. She's too frightened, too afraid of what he can do, what he's already done.

She's taken by surprise when her fist smashes into the underside of his jaw.

He laughs. "What's the matter, Princess? Or would you rather I called you, 'little girl'? Seemed to like it when he did it."

She tries to punch him again, but he catches her arm. Twists it behind her back, then sweeps her from her feet. "Playtime's over, baby doll. The real fun begins now."

The world swirls around her and suddenly she finds herself on the bed. He's over here, boring into hers, weight pressing against her.

Something is different. She's not sure what, but something…

"You're not gonna remember, Rachel," he says. "Might as well stop trying. I've got it locked up tight and you ain't getting at it." He taps her on the forehead.

"I'm not going to stop. I'm going to find out what you did to me."

"Not before I want you to. You already got a taste of what happens if you get too close."

She raises her eyebrow. "You're going to kill me if I try to remember?"

He smiles that smile that makes her gut wrench. "I won't kill you, Princess. But I will put you away for a very long time." He lowers his gaze down her body, hand following in a possessive caress. "Put you away and keep you all to myself." He lowers his head and presses a soft kiss to her lips. "Think about," he whispers.

Then he disappears.

Rachel opened her eyes. Dean was sprawled out in bed next to her, arm draped over her stomach. He was snoring very softly. Outside, it was raining, drops pattering against the window.

She licked her lips.

They tasted faintly of sulfur.

* * *

"I don't think you can use invisible ink on plates," Nathan said. "I think that with the homemade stuff, you have to use paper."

"Why? Why wouldn't it work just as well on plates?" Rachel asked. She has a plate in her hand and is standing at the stove, holding it over a lit pilot.

Nathan frowns. Shrugs. "Um… Because?"

Rachel rolls her eyes.

"The ink bonds with the paper!" Nathan suddenly shouted. He lifted a plate from the stack and sniffed. "Besides. I think that these plates have been washed."

"You don't…"

"They smell like apples. Not lemons. Sorry, sis."

She hit him in the shoulder.

"Hey!" Nathan shoved her in retaliation.

"Watch out! Want me to set my hair on fire?"

"You wouldn't set it on fire if you cut it all ready. Or put it back. Or weren't wasting time!"

"I'm not the one wasting time!" Rachel slammed the plate on the counter; it shattered from the force, but she didn't seem to care. Instead, she turned around, glaring at Nathan. "You are the one wasting time! It doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me about the invisible ink, what matters is that you do what I say."

"I'm just saying that it's unlikely you wrote on the plates in invisible ink. Or smeared messages on the glasses with your fingers. Or…"

"If I can think of it now, why wouldn’t I have thought of it then?" Rachel asked quietly.

Nathan fell silent. He looked at Dean, an expression of helplessness on his face.

Dean cleared his throat and set down the glass he was dusting for fingerprints. Like the last ten, there was nothing on it, not even his fingerprints since Rachel had insisted he wear gloves. "Rach," Dean said as he rose and crossed the kitchen to her. "I think it's time to call it wash. Even if you did leave yourself a message on the plates or glasses, it's not here anymore."

A stubborn expression crossed her face, but she nodded. "Okay. So, there's nothing in here. Fine. There's still the rest of the house, right?"

He wanted to tell her he doubted it. That the demon had cleared everything out pretty thoroughly. The cleaning staff had done the rest. That this was a wild goose chase and all it was going to do was drive her crazy.

But he knew she needed to do this. Needed to go through it all, looking for clues. Hoping to unlock a memory or two. Get it out of her system and then move on. Hopefully.

So, Dean reached behind her and shut off the pilot to the stove. Kissed her on the forehead. "Troops, let's move to the living room."

For a long moment, no one did anything. Then, Sam rose from the cabinet he'd been looking through. He grabbed Nathan's hand and dragged him out of the kitchen without saying anything.

The two of them have been acting weird all morning. Nathan ate off Sam's plate at breakfast. Sam kept grabbing Nathan by the hand or wrist and pulling him places. They kept standing just, like, an inch too close to each other. It was all wrong, but Dean just didn't want to think about it too hard.

Although… Sam had always been kind of weird. Like really, really open to anything. The anti-John Winchester. Not that there dad had been a raging homophobe or anything, but there were things that were okay (family) and not okay (everything else). So, Sam had gone out of his way to accept everybody.

Dean had never asked Sam how far he'd gone with any of the gay guys he'd ever been friends with. He'd never wanted to know. Still didn't, even if it was Rachel's brother he was messing around with. Only, it was easier to think about his brother being seduced by a guy about half his size then what had happened to Rachel. In fact, it was downright pleasant to think about in comparison.

But he couldn't. He was here for Rachel. Rachel, who was leaning against the stove, looking off into space. Her expression was blank, eyes a little teary.

"Rach?"

She shook her head and blinked. "There's probably nothing on the plates. I would have used eggs."

"What?"

"Invisible ink on eggs. You use vinegar and baking powder, write on the eggs. Then, you boil them, take off the shell, and there's the message. I would have used that. But they threw all the eggs away, so…" She shrugged. "Let's keep looking." She drifted past him, silent and lost in her own thoughts.

Dean followed her, stomach churning. He hated it when she got like this, all quiet and distant. She almost never did, but it seemed that's the only way she'd been ever since they'd found her. He wanted his girl back, dammit, and he wanted to get his hands around the bastard that did this to her.

Even the one who treated her okay. Nathan was convinced there were two people: the demon and whoever rescued Rachel from the cave. And Rachel remembered being happy. Thinks she cheated on him. Dean doesn't believe for a minute Rachel would cheat on him, but he does believe that whoever pulled her out of the cave knew what he was bringing Rachel here for. He brought her here to be raped by a demon. Raped by him, too. Lust spell or not, he laid his hands on Dean's girl and that just… that…

It made Dean want to kill something.

Rachel had them go through everything. They pulled cushions off of the chairs, looked under rugs, felt along the floor for hidden panels. They moved furniture, went through every magazine twice, took down the curtains, put the curtains back up, and felt along the walls for secret passages. At that, Nathan tried to draw Rachel into a story about how they'd spent on summer looking in every room in their for a secret passage (or a wardrobe to take them to Narnia), but Rachel was too far away to join in.

"I'm going in the bedroom," she said finally.

"But we're not done in here," Nathan said.

"You can finish here. I'll go in there."

"I'll go."

"No, Dean. I want to do this myself."

He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "But… Rachel, I…"

She shook her head. Tried for a smile and missed the mark. "Dean, I want to do it myself. Please."

He looked at her, every inch of him screaming to say no. To refuse to let her back in that room alone. To face what had happened alone.

But he could feel the weight of Sam's eyes on the back of his head. And he knew what he had to do.

"Just… call if you need any help," he finally.

Some of the tension melted off of Rachel, and this time it was a real, if tiny, smile. "I will." Then she turned and death-marched to the bedroom.

Dean watched her go. Sat down. "Sam," he said, voice hoarse.

Sam sighed. Dropped the magazine he was leafing through and came to sit beside Dean. "I don't know, Dean. I have no idea what to do."

"I know I just gotta let her do this. But it's like she's going farther away."

"It's going to get worse before it gets better." Nathan, now. He came over and sat beside them, next to Sam. "I mean, that's how it goes, right?" He sighed. Shook his head and leaned against Sam's shoulder. "She's not my sister," he whispered.

Dean snorted. "Not my wife."

Sam didn't say anything. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw him put his hand over Nathan's and squeeze it.

There was a screeching sound from the other wood that Dean identified as furniture being dragged over wood.

Nathan kind of laughed. "She used to remodel her bedroom four times a year. January first, the day after school ended, the day before school started, and one kind of floating day reserved for whenever she got tired of the room. She's good at moving stuff around."

"Yeah," Sam said. "We've noticed. When we're hunting, she'll move things out of the way sometimes. Get there before either of us and just start… pushing this heavy stuff. Usually with her legs."

"Sitting on the floor." Nathan's laugh was real this time. "She moved a bookshelf full of books halfway across the room with just her legs before. She's really strong like that."

There was a bang. Another one. Frantic fumbling.

"Moved the bed we sleep in when we stay at Bobby's," Dean said. "Because…"

"She wants to sleep under the window," Nathan finished. "That's her favorite place to sleep, but she'll move the bed away sometimes. For about a week. In winter."

Dean nodded. "I thought Bobby was going to rip her a new one, but he was fine with it. Muttered something about a bride gettin' to make the room what she wanted or something. I don't know." He rubbed his forehead. "We should get this room back to normal. Let her do the bedroom."

Sam and Nathan nodded. Together, the three of them put the room back together. Sam went into the kitchen and put everything away. It took longer to put everything back in place than it had to take it apart, and by the time they were done, there was silence from the other room.

"You two go outside. See if you can find anything."

Nathan looked like he was going to make a smart remark, but Sam just nodded and dragged him outside.

Steeling himself, Dean headed to the bedroom.

It was in shambles. Drawers were pulled out of the dresser and nightstands. The bed was completely pulled apart, comforter and sheets torn from it, mattress pushed off the frame. The closet doors were open, hangers scattered on the floor or hanging empty. There was a pile of dresses on the floor. Underwear scattered across the dresser. Nightgowns ripped apart and tossed onto the bed. The bed was pulled away from the wall, as was the dresser. It looked like a hurricane had gone through here. Hurricane Rachel.

"Rach?" he called, carefully stepping over a pile of hangers and underwear.

"In here."

He went into the bathroom. It, too, had been torn apart. She was sitting in the bathtub, hair pulled into a messy ponytail, eyes wet and red.

Dean climbed into the tub so he could face her. Pulled her feet into his lap and leaned back. Waited.

She let out a soul-weary sigh. "There's no shoes."

That was not what he'd been expecting her to say. He cocked his head. "Huh?"

Her eyes focused on his. "No shoes. Dresses, underwear, even socks, but no shoes. So I couldn't run away. It's all rock and plants and dirt out there. It'd hurt my feet, and with the sprained ankle…" Her mouth crimps.

Dean puts his hand on her shin. "Did you find anything?"

"No." A tear escapes. "Nothing. Not even a scratch on the wall. I didn't…"

"I'm sure you had other things to worry about. And you didn't know you were going to forget. Didn't know it'd take your memory."

She sighed again. Tilted her head back, eyes closing. "I saw him last night."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"The demon. He came in a dream. I think it started out as a memory, but that part's gone. All I remember is he was on top of me and he told me that I'm not going to be able to remember. That I should stop trying. If I did remember something, I'd stop breathing again. And if I kept at it… if I kept at it." Her voice caught and when she spoke again, it was hoarse and rough, "He'd take me away."

His mind filled with so many questions so quickly that he couldn't say any of them.

Rachel opened her eyes and looked at him. "You won't let him take me, right?"

"No." That one was easy to say, impossible to know if he'd keep. He'd lost her once before, and now…

Rachel relaxed somewhat. Slid down further in the tub, her feet resting more firmly in Dean's lap. "I'm glad." She gave a self-deprecating smile. "Never thought I'd want someone else to take care of me. I always kind of figured I'd do it on my own."

Dean slid his hand under her calf. Rubbed. "Me too. But here you are, and I'm not gonna give you up." He gave her a lopsided smile. "I like the way you pack our bags too much."

She laughed. "You can't just cram everything into a big ball. Stuff needs to be folded. Leaves more room for the weapons and holy water and books and stuff." She rubbed one foot on his thigh. "You spent all those years carrying too many bags because you were too lazy to pack right."

He caught her foot. Ran his thumb down it. "You have shown me the error of my ways."

"I would have thought your dad would have taught you better. He was a Marine."

"Believe me, he tried. But something in me just couldn't take it. I'm all chaos."

Rachel rolled her eyes.

Dean grinned. She was looking more like herself: color back in her cheeks, life in her eyes. This was good.

But, then, her eyes went distant again. She frowned.

"What?"

"I don't know. I feel like I'm missing something. Like there's something else I'm forgetting."

"What do you mean?"

"I don’t know. It just… it feels like there was something before all this I need to remember. Something that would make it all make sense. But it's gone. Just… gone." She sighed. "This is the tub, you know. Where I was with that other man."

"The man that wasn't the demon."

She nodded. "I cared for him. Maybe loved him, I don't know. We were in here, taking a bath, and he… he smiled at me. Kissed me."

Jealousy churned in Dean's gut. His hand tightened on her calve. "There was the lust spell. It was probably that."

"I know. I know." She shook her head. "But I think I cared for him despite that."

Great. Fantastic. She cared for whatever dick made a deal with a demon so he could rape his wife. That was just one hundred percent the best news he'd ever heard. And he'd already told her he didn't care, just as long as she hadn't been terrified and hurt the entire time she was missing, so it wasn't like he could back on it now. So, just. Fuck.

"Well," Dean said, forcing his grip to loosen. He massaged her leg. "Maybe it was someone you knew. From your past. That you cared about. Got any old boyfriends who might have been contacted by a demon?"

"Uh, no. I don’t think so," she said. "Before you, I really didn't have any. Except…"

"Kit." That flame-haired fox fairy bastard. "Could it have been him? I mean, maybe the demon put him back together somehow. You said he might not be all the way dead, just depowered. Maybe old yellow eyes gave him a booster shot."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't… I guess. I mean, I suppose it's possible."

He waited for her to go on. When she didn't, he voiced her silent, "But?"

"But." She sighed. "I don't know. Kit wasn't that much bigger than I am. I get the impression this man was bigger. And darker." She rubbed her head. "Maybe I should stop thinking about."

"Why? Are you feeling okay? Is that bastard doing something to you?"

"No, no, I'm fine," she said, moving forward. Rachel crawled onto his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm fine. I have a headache, but it's the stress of all this. That's all. I'm okay." She kissed him. Sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "I just think I need to stop thinking about it. I think I knew after he came to me last night. He's playing a game with us. With me, and he's playing it by his rules. He'll let me know when he's ready for the next stage, and I… I don't want to run around in circles in the meantime for his amusement. I mean, I want to know, but I can't…if I keep looking and never find any answers, I'll go insane." She gave a bitter little laugh. "I bet that's how John felt." She looked up at Dean. "I want to move on. I want to… put it behind me and figure things out later. I want to feel normal."

"I'm all for that." He tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear. Kissed her temple. "Do you want to head to Bobby's, do some research, find a job? Or do you want to go somewhere?"

"Like where?" she asked.

"I don't know. Anywhere. We've got all of the country to play around in."

She smiled. Leaned closer and kissed him. "Let's go hunt something. If it's too much, then we can take some time off. Just you and me."

"Take that honeymoon."

Rachel laughed. "We really need to do that at some point."

He kissed her. Rested his forehead against hers. "We will, babe. I promise."

* * *

Jo caught Rachel in a fierce embrace almost as soon as she'd stepped out of the Impala. "I've been so worried about you," she whispered into Rachel's neck.

Rachel returned the hug. "I'm okay. I am, really." She rubbed Jo's back and thought about pulling away. Decided she didn't really have the strength to, so she tightened her arms and relaxed against Jo.

She could hear Dean and the others getting out of the car. Doors slammed, bags were hoisted. Dean put his hand on her shoulder as he passed and said, "Don't stay out too long, Rach. You're going to gather a crowd of horny hunters."

Jo laughed and pulled away, keeping her arm around Rachel's shoulders. "I can take care of them," she said.

"Yeah, I know you think you can." He gave them both a half-smile, then went ahead of them into the Roadhouse with Sam.

"Hey, Jo," Nathan said, sidling up next to them.

"Oh my God, Nathan!" she shrieked. She let go of Rachel and tackle-hugged Nathan, almost knocking him over. "It's been forever since I've seen you, how are you?"

He pulled away, grinning. "I'm… okay. All things considered."

"Right. Oh my God, it's so weird seeing you here. I haven't seen you since Mom made me tour that college."

"We've chatted."

"On the computer doesn't count. This is so great." Jo turned to Rachel, beaming. "See, I have this idea that you, me, and Nathan should form our own hunting sect. You research, I do the killing, Nathan does the exorcism stuff. You know, magic crap that he's so good at. We'd be so good at it." She links arms with Rachel and Nathan and they began walking to the bar.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "Well, maybe. Except that I kind of like hanging around with Sam and Dean. You know. My husband?"

Jo makes a derisive sound. "We'd be so much better. It'd be… girl power. And Nathan."

"I'm all for girl-power."

Rachel just rolls her eyes again. "Well, that'd be something. Maybe next time Dean and Sam go off without me, I'll think about it. But, that's not going to happen for, I know. Years? And I don't think Nathan's going to ease off on Sam any time soon…"

"What? You're with Sam?" Jo glanced over at Nathan, who was pushing the door to the bar open so they could go inside.

"Not with. Working at, sort of," he answered. "We've kissed."

"Under the influence of a lust spell," Rachel felt compelled to point out.

He grinned wickedly. "Yeah, that wasn't what I was talking about."

Her mouth fell open. "You kissed for real?"

He was nodding when Ellen came up to their group.

"Hey, Rachel." She gently extracted Rachel from Jo and gave her a warm hug. "How you holding up?"

"She's fine, Mom."

"Jo, go take Nathan to get something to eat," Ellen said without letting Rachel go.

Jo huffed and stomped off with Nathan.

Ellen stroked Rachel's hair and then pulled away. "Dean said you're coming back from the cabin?"

"Yeah. I think… I don't remember anything, really. But just being there helped me, I don't know, make some sense of it. In a way that doesn't make any sense at all."

"Makes sense to me. It'd make sense to most hunters. We've all been there one way or another. Trouble is, none of us talk about it. We just… suffer our losses, then go out and fight some more." Ellen leaned in and pressed kiss on Rachel's forehead. "Don't do that. Talk about what happened. Or how you feel. Don't just shove everything into hunting."

She smiled wryly. "I'll try not to. And maybe at some point, I'll remember enough to actually talk about it." She shook her head and said, "I'll tell you one thing, though. When we finally find that yellow-eyed bastard, I think I have a pretty good claim to the honor of killing him."

Ellen laughed. "That you do, baby girl. That you do. Now, your husband and the rest are upstairs eating. Better head on up before they get into trouble."

"Nathan's here. They're already in trouble."

Despite her foreboding, Nathan was doing nothing more than drinking beer and flirting like mad with Sam, Ash, and Jo by the time Rachel made it upstairs. They had a bunch of clippings spread out on the table in front of them, and were occasionally referencing them in between what Rachel assumed was witty repartee. She was too tired to really tell.

A quick glance around showed Dean in the corner, nursing a beer.

She grabbed a soda from the fridge and went to him. "You okay?" she asked, sitting on his lap.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired." He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. "Ash said he thinks he can find a job for us. Skip going to Bobby's. Unless you had your heart set on it."

"I don't care. A job sounds fine. Bobby's is fine." She opened her soda and took a drink. "I really don't have an opinion."

"You not have an opinion? You once talked forty-five minutes straight about why Mr. Pib was a crime against nature." He kissed her forehead. "You don't sound okay."

"I'm just tired."

"Maybe." He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "You want to go to bed? Get some sleep?""

"Too tired to sleep. And it's too loud here. And I don’t want to be alone, don't want to be in the dark."

"What do you want to do? I mean, we could grab Sam and Nathan and keep going to Bobby's. We can drive through the night, if that's what you want."

Tears pressed behind her eyelids as she squeezed them shut. "I don't know what I want, Dean. Besides to go back in time and avoid all this."

He squeezed her, rubbing his face against hers. "Why don't we get outta here for a little bit. Just you and me. Take the car and go."

It took a moment for her to work past the lump in her throat. "Where'd we go?"

"Who cares? You, me, some beer. Soda for you, since you're a freak. We could just get out of here. Watch the stars or whatever."

She let out a long sigh. "Yeah," she whispered. "That sounds perfect."  
They slipped out the back, grabbing drinks and food as they left. They ran around the bar, hand in hand, grinning like idiots. Rachel felt better than she had in days, lighter. Almost carefree. It wasn't the first time she and Dean had run from reality to steal a few hours to themselves, and the familiarity of it was a kind of comfort. The sneaking, though, gave it a kind of thrill.

The drove until the Roadhouse was miles behind them. The drove until they found an empty lot, overgrown with weeds, dusty with dirt, and littered with parts of cars, old wooden boards, and tree stumps.

Dean cut the engine and looked over at her. She met his eyes and smiled. A small smile of gratitude for him understanding what she'd needed, of acknowledgement that this place was, if not perfect, at least good.

He squeezed her thigh and then moved, grabbing his beer as he got out of the car. She did the same and they climbed onto the hood. Interlaced their fingers, shoulders and thighs pressing together. They cracked open their drinks and… sat. Rachel's head on Dean's shoulder, a cool wind caressing tendrils of hair over their faces.

This far in the middle of nowhere, the sounds of civilization were nonexistent. The air was full of crickets and the rustling of animals as they rooted through the grass. The wind. Dean breathing.

Peaceful.

Dean had been right. This was what she needed. It wasn't a permanent fix—nothing would ever permanently fix her—but she needed to be away. Away from people, both those she didn't know and those she loved. Just… away. With her best friend.

It was perfect.

Dean lifted his beer to his mouth. Took a long drink, probably draining half the can. Rachel took a sip of her soda. She'd tried to like beer. Had tried many times, up to the point of drinking too many and being thoroughly sick. In the end, she had to admit that she just didn't like the taste. So, she stuck to soda.

He lowered his beer and set it on the hood of the car next to him. "No stars. I wonder if there's a storm coming."

"I like summer storms."

Dean laughed and said, "Summer storms out here can be a little more dangerous than those sissy storms back East."

Rachel's head fell back as she let out a full throated laugh. "Sissy storms. That your way of saying I'm weak? Because I was raised on sissy storms?"

He squeezed her hand. "You're not weak. Despite not growing up on manly storms."

She laughed again. "Not that you're wrong, but this doesn't feel like it's going to be a huge deal. Just some rain."

"That's how it starts. Some rain. Some lightning. Thunder. And then, bang. You need a canoe to cross the street."

"Well, do you have a canoe?"

Dean grinned and nodded. "I keep it in the trunk."

"Must be a tiny canoe, then. Or is it one of those little blow up raft?"

"Had one when I was a kid. We were staying in this real small town. There was a lake. That summer, we actually spent more time hanging out at the lake, just swimming and messing around, then… anything else. Dad hardly hunted at all." His voice was far away. Dean lifted his beer and took another drink.

"I like the ocean," Rachel said. Leaned her head on Dean's shoulder again. "It's wild. Never ends. We had a cabin…" Her voice faltered. "Um. On the beach. We'd go there in the summer. It was fun."

"Parents still have it?"

"I think so."

"We can go," but Rachel was shaking her head before the words were out of his mouth.

"I uh… I wanna work," she said, looking at him. "I need to be busy right now. I think that'd be best."

Dean nodded. "I'm all for that." He leaned over and kissed her softly.

All at once, the clouds ripped open and dumped a torrent of rain, soaking them almost instantly.

"Guess that answers that question," Dean shouted over the pounding.

Rachel laughed and tilted her head back. Opened her mouth as she kicked off her shoes. "You were right about it not being a sissy storm," she said, sliding off the car.

"What are you doing?"

She raised her hands up to sky and twirled around in a circle. "I love the rain! This is great!" She did a pirouette. Almost fell into the mud but caught herself in time. She couldn't stop grinning.

Dean laughed. A gentle, amused laughed. One of his, "My wife is insane," laughs that she'd gotten used to hearing.

She heard him climb off the car, but he didn't join her. She wasn't sure what he was doing, actually. She'd stopped twirling for the moment and was pulling her hair into a ponytail. They'd need to head back now. Probably. They were soaked. She was wearing jeans. Jeans chafed.

She didn't want to go yet.

Suddenly, an electric guitar wailed. A slow drum joined it. Sensually, the music wound through the air, drawing her attention.

Rachel turned.

Dean was pulling away from the Impala. Walking towards her. He caught he around the waist and pulled her tight against his body. One hand slid up her back and worked the elastic out of her hair, The other stayed around her waist, guiding her as they swayed to the music.

Her stomach clenched and heat rose to her cheeks. Fingers grasped at his wet tee shirt. She leaned her head against his shoulder, standing on her toes to make up the height. He smelled like sweat and rain and skin. He smelled like leather and beer and just Dean.

I've really been the best, the best of fools, I did what I could, yeah/'Cause I love you, baby, How I love you, darling, How I love you, baby,/ I'm in love with you, girl, little girl.

"Dean," Rachel sighed. She ran her hand up his back. To his neck, threading her fingers into his short hair. "This is not you. I mean… dancing in the rain?" She looked up at him. "Not that I don't like it."

"You were gone for two weeks," he said hoarsely. "I thought… I've been expecting you leave, to disappear, ever since I woke up in the hospital with a ring on my finger. I swore that, if I got you back, I'd do it all right. All that romance crap. Stuff. Dancing in the rain and the wedding with family. You in a dress and me in a tux. Whatever you wanted. Whatever I needed to do so you'd stay, I'd do."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Dean," she whispered. Tears mingled on her face with raindrops. "Dean, you don't need to do anything. I'm not going to leave. I love you."

"Rach…"

She stopped what he was going to say, kissing him. Holding him, mouth working against his. Her whole body was shaking as she poured everything she was into him, wanting him to believe in her. Needing him to believe.

"I swear," she whispered when the broke apart. "I swear I will never willing leave your side. You're my husband." Her mouth quirked. "For better or for worse."

"No more worse," he replied. "Please. No more."

"I can live with that." She raised up on her toes again. Kissed him.

The kiss started gentle, but then caught fire. Grew more intense, more passionate. Tongues twining together and teeth nipping. Hands moving over each other and then Dean lifted her. Rachel wrapped her legs around Deans waist and clung to him, kissing over his face, nibbling at his ear and down his neck as Dean moved to the car. Pushed her up against it.

His breath was hot against her neck. Mouth and tongue traced trails of fire over her skin. Pulled at the collar of sopping tee, kissing whatever he could.

Rachel pulled her arms from around Dean. Rucked up her shirt, pulling it over her head and letting it fall. Then she clawed at Dean's shirt. Together, they managed to get it off him without her falling.

His hips pushed against hers, hard bulge grinding against her, sending sparks flaring behind her eyelids. It wasn't enough; there was too much fabric between them, too many layers. She writhed against him, tightening her legs, but it wasn't enough.

Rachel's head fell back. Clunked against the roof of the car. "Dean," she groaned, pain and pleasure twining through her body. "Inside."

"Not yet."

Laughter bubbled up her throat. "I meant the car." She found the door handle. Pulled it.

"Right. Right." He pulled her away. Yanked open the door, and together they tumbled inside. Rachel hit her head against the window, but didn't feel it. "God, I missed you," he murmured against her shoulder. Hands shaking, he pulled her bra straps down her arms. Trailed his fingertips around her body and unhooked.

Rachel gasped as Dean explored her. His fingers traced her skin, raising goose bumps. His tongue lapped at her, mouth sucked. Her body was awash with sensations. The heat of Dean's mouth. The coldness of the raindrops that fell from Dean's hair. Smoothness of his lips. The rough texture of his fingertips.

He kissed his way down her stomach. Smoothly undid her jeans and struggled to pull them off her legs. He didn't look up to see if it was okay, didn't ask if she was all right with this, and Rachel was deeply, profoundly grateful. She appreciated everyone's concern. But right now, she didn't want Dean to be concerned. She wanted him to just be there.

His breath was hot on her underwear. He licked along the waistband, then drew them down. Tossed them into the front of the car and drew her legs over his shoulder.

"Oh," Rachel gasped as his mouth pressed against her. She clenched her teeth together, one hand slapping back against the window. Her hips rolled as Dean explored her, his tongue probing her. Teasing her.

Sweat broke out over her body. Wind blew through the open door. She shivered. Groaned loudly. Her entire body shuddered as she came. "Dean," she panted. "Dean. Dean." Tears spilled from her eyes.

"Shh," he soothed. He crawled up her body and covered her with his. Smoothed her hair back and kissed her forehead. "Still with me, babe?"

"Yeah." She hadn't cried during sex since the first time they'd been together. She'd be embarrassed, but there was understanding in Dean's eyes. A look there that reflected the way she was feeling.

Her hands trembled as she reached down and fumbled with his belt. Together, they pulled it open. Pushed his jeans over his hips. He had to sit up so he could remove his shoes, then wiggle out of the jeans, but then he was back. Mouth on hers, hand behind her neck, cradling her. Protecting her.

He slid inside with a gentle exhale. A groan, eyes closed, forehead against hers. "God, baby. Rachel"

Rachel wrapped her legs around his waist. "Kiss me before I start babbling." She smoothed her fingertips over his face.

"You know I love it when you babble." He moved his hips.

Her breath hitched. "Dean. Dean, please. Move, please." Her hands tightened on his shoulders.

He started to move. Pleasure raced up Rachel's spine. She arched her back. Move her hips in tandem with his, hands caressing his hair, his neck, his shoulders. Kissing him and holding him close as they moved. The car rocked. Sweat beaded on Dean's forehead. Slid down his back. The anxiety and tension and worry of the past weeks melted away, banished, at least for the moment, as they rediscovered one another.

Every nerve was on fire as they moved. Every bit of her tingled. Her groin felt hot and tight. A shivery sensation moved up her stomach.

Dean shifted, somehow managing to slide further into the car. Without pulling apart, he maneuvered onto his back. Shifted her on top of him.

Rachel pushed herself up on his chest. Rolled her hips. Her hair hung over her shoulders. Dean ran his hands through them. Down her shoulders. He cupped her breasts, flicking her nipples.

Pleasure swirled up through her. Her head spun and she moved faster on top of him. "Dean," she whispered, not realizing she was saying anything. "Please."

He gripped her hips. Pushed into her as she rode on him, faster and harder with each thrust.

She felt him stiffen under her. His mouth fell open and his hands tightened as he came. Rachel reached down and rubbed herself, so close to the edge that she fell over with just a few touches. She cried out, eyes squeezed shut. Shudders ran through her body.

Still trembling, she lay down. Rested her head on Dean's shoulder and closed her eyes.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before Dean stirred. Kissed her on the forehead and moved her off him.

Rachel kept her eyes closed, listening to his movements. He climbed out of the car. Rooted through the trunk. The car rocked as he climbed back in, closing the door behind him. His legs moved on either side of her body. He pulled her up and against his body, then covered her with a blanket.

She opened her eyes and rolled onto her stomach. Propped herself over Dean and gazed down at him.

He looked at her. Rubbed his fingers up and down her back. Up her neck and into her hair.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

She smiled. Ran her fingers down his collarbone. "I'm okay."

"Not for good."

"Well, no. But I'm okay." She grinned. "And that was fantastic."

"Of course it was." Dean kissed her. "It was us." He took her hand. Kissed her fingertips. "Let's get wedding rings. As soon as we hit the next town." He rubbed her left ring finger, which still felt so naked without her ring.

She smiled. "I'd like that. Something we both pick out."

"Unless you think… I mean, we said… Look. Do you really want a real wedding? Fancy dress and a priest and all your relatives and stuff? The whole… thing?"

Rachel shook her head slowly, watching him carefully. They'd talked about it for so long, but her heart has never really been in it. But if Dean wanted one…

But he smiled, looking… not relieved, just settled. "Me neither. Not really. We're married, right? We're together and family and neither of us are going anywhere."

"We don’t need to add ceremony to that," Rachel said. She ran her fingers down Dean's cheek and said, "What we have is real. We don't need anyone else to make it more real for us."

"Exactly." He pulled her down and kissed her softly. "So. Matching rings."

"Let's get them engraved."

"With what?"

Rachel shrugged. Bit her lip. "Dunno." She tilted her head to the side, thinking. And then it came to her. "The life I wanted," she said, bringing back the conversation they'd had after their first time.

His brow furrowed before understanding dawned. A smile slid over his face, lighting him from within. "The life I wanted. It's perfect." He pulled her down and kissed her. "Never disappear on me like that again. Got it?"

"Yeah," Rachel whispered. She rested her forehead against his. "I got it."

Three Months Later

"Bandages?" Sam said.

Rachel pulled a few boxes off the shelf and tossed it into the cart. "Check."

"Rubbing alcohol."

"Check."

"Ice."

"Check. Icy-heat stuff, check. Ace bandages, check. I know we need more thread for stitches and more needles. Oh, and toothpaste and toilet paper."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You know bathrooms usually come stocked with that."

"Don't you know anything about your boyfriend, Sam?" Rachel asked sweetly. "He needs his own roll of toilet paper when using public facilities."

"He's not my boyfriend," he mumbled, blushing.

"That hickey on your neck says otherwise. Oh, and I need shampoo." She grabbed a few more first-aid supplies from the shelf, then pushed the cart down the aisle. "Speaking of, how about condoms and lube?"

"Rachel!" Sam yelped as they passed two little kids. His face was a scarlet flame.

Rachel just rolled her eyes. "Like they understood that. And if they did, who cares? It's just a question. For all they and their parents know, it's for us. We are shopping together."

"Why does that always happen again? We're always the ones on stock-up duty."

"That's because Dean is a weasel and Nathan is a junior weasel. And I don't trust them to do the shopping anyway. Don't know why you always tag along."

Sam shrugged. "Just used to it, I guess. Before you, I did all the shopping. Oh, hey. You need any…" He trailed off and gestured to the feminine needs aisle as they passed.

"No, I'm good. I still have… lots." Her voice died. She stopped, suddenly cold. Suddenly freezing and her palms were sweating and heart pounded and she was going to throw up.

"Rachel?" Sam said, hand on her elbow. His voice was very far away through the sudden cotton filling her ears. "You okay?"

How? How had she not realized? How…

"Rachel!"

She blinked. Swallowed and looked up at Sam. "I'm pregnant." And then, she realized she'd misjudged what her body was doing. She didn't throw up. Instead, she passed out.

Fin


End file.
